


Zero to Infinity

by 9Jou10, PrinceMewstar



Category: Code Geass
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Gen, Prince Lelouch, Relationships May Change, Violence, Warnings May Change, arguments always end in breakdowns, boy we really love our breakdowns, neanderthal warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:20:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22523908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/9Jou10/pseuds/9Jou10, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrinceMewstar/pseuds/PrinceMewstar
Summary: After Marianne dies of sickness, Lelouch lives his life as a prince alongside Nunnally. During a visit to see Clovis in Area 11, Lelouch attempts to gain the emperor's favor, but the rebellion stands in his way. Meanwhile, Suzaku gets caught in a terrorist attack that forces him to question how far good and evil overlap. In discovering the truth, Suzaku and Lelouch reveal the path of zero to infinity.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is co-written, so credit goes to 9Jou10, the brilliant angst mastermind behind this AU's Suzaku, and PrinceMewstar (Mewsy), in charge of all things Lelouch! Ratings may change depending on how the story flows.

**Phase 1**

On the tenth of August 2017 a.t.b., Lelouch vi Britannia, the eleventh prince of the largest empire in the world, was _incredibly_ bored.

He laid sideways across the arms of a large chair, sighing at the uninteresting, _uneventfully clear_ blue sky. _Ugh._ Lelouch stretched out even further, his gaze dropping from the palace garden windows. He stared at the remains of the chess game he'd played by himself for the twelfth time that day. Plotting against Schneizel lost its novelty after a while.

"I'm _royalty_. Why in the whole forsaken world am I just lying around?" Lelouch hissed, glancing around the empty room, the white suit he'd tossed on the floor beside him. Let the others bug him about wrinkled clothes. It was something to do, at least.

After his mother's early death to an unexpected sickness, Lelouch found his life repeatedly turning to boredom. With the recent international turmoil, Lelouch's father was always busy. He left Lelouch to laze about or take etiquette lessons or prepare speeches or do just about anything except something exciting.

"I. Am. A. _Prince._ " Lelouch sat up, sighing again. "Why am I so _bored_?"

A knock on the doorframe broke the silence. "Lelouch?" It was the voice of a girl — a princess, to be exact. It was Nunnally vi Britannia, eighty-seventh in line for the throne and Lelouch's younger sister.

"Yes?" He turned around in his seat.

Nunnally was wearing her favorite violet dress with white lace and gold trim, a gift from their half-sister, Euphemia. Nunnally's eyes, the same vivid violet as Lelouch's, were shining with affection and excitement.

Nunnally tucked a stray hair behind her ear. She strode over to the forgotten white suit on the ground, picking it up with a concerned frown. "Brother, you shouldn't be so careless with your things! Look, now it's dusty." She pawed and patted at the spot she claimed to see, but there really wasn't much of it. The floor was clean, after all. "What are you going to wear if this gets dirty?"

A soft smile appeared on Lelouch's chiseled face. He brushed aside his dark bangs, sitting straighter. _Of all people, I'm glad it's you._

"Ah. You're right. I should take better care of my things." Lelouch accepted the suit when she handed it back to him, slipping it on with grace. "You look stunning as always, Nunnally."

A smile more radiant than the sun lit up her face. "Thank you, Lelouch!"

She twirled, the skirt of her dress rippling with her movements. Lelouch knew she didn't need a special reason to wear the dress — she'd worn it for fun enough times. But when she stilled, her hands clasped in front of her, he could tell she was pushing for luck.

_What does she want?_ "Is there a special occasion?"

She hesitated, eyes trailing shyly to the ceiling, fingers twisting in her skirt. "Today Euphy invited me to go with her to visit Clovis," Nunnally said, voice tentative, "in Area 11 … tomorrow. He's been there for a long time, and Euphy and I thought he'd want to see some familiar faces for a change. We wanted to know …"

Lelouch scowled. She _knew_ that letting her go to a former war zone without him was out of the que—

Nunnally's gaze snapped back to him. "Do you want to come with us? Maybe?"

Lelouch's objection quieted. _Well …_ Lelouch still didn't _like_ the idea, but it was a chance to get _out there_ and, well, he would be with them so it would be fine …

Not to mention he'd never been to Area 11 on any of his diplomatic visits. Lelouch was tired of being the deadweight prince with no real experience. He couldn't miss the opportunity.

"Sure. I'll come with you."

She gasped dramatically. "Yay!" Nunnally threw her arms around him, jumping up and down in excitement. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Lelouch laughed. Nunnally drew back after a tight squeeze, still giggling.

"I'm going to go tell Euphy now! See you at dinner!" She waved goodbye and skipped out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

"Area 11, huh," Lelouch said thoughtfully, turning to look outside, gaze drifting to the horizon. _Goodbye, boredom._

Having sisters had to be one of his greatest gifts.

o-o-o-o

After dinner and without protest, their remaining half-brothers wished them safe travels. The emperor wasn't there to say goodbye, but things seemed to be going smoothly for the three of them. Euphemia had somehow found permission to visit Clovis on her own, as she confided later that Cornelia didn't know they were traveling to Area 11.

There was another catch. Lelouch would have to ride in a _public_ aircraft, not a private jet. His sisters wanted to get the full experience of life in Area 11, complete with whining children and the judgments of the rabble. He'd had half a mind to complain, using the danger of travel as an excuse to save his pride.

But Lelouch hated staying complacent. If it took a minor sacrifice of comfort, bowing his head to the whims of his sisters … then he would do what he had to do.

He packed his things and double-checked that Nunnally hadn't forgotten anything. The next day, they took off.

Aside from the noise, the ride was similar to the other flights he'd been on. Lelouch usually would have minded the chatter, but his mind was jumbled with possibilities, with questions, with plans to secure himself in his father's eyes. _I heard there's a lot of underground crime in the Shinjuku Ghetto. Actually, there's crime everywhere. Seven years under our control — well, Clovis doesn't have the guts to investigate them that thoroughly, so I could …_

The ding of the plane's speakers interrupted his thoughts.

_"We will now be touching down at the Tokyo Settlement landing station. Passengers, stay seated until further notice. Flight attendants and cabin crew, please prepare for gate departure. Thank you for riding with us."_

Lelouch glanced over at Euphy finishing her ice cream, then at the guards posted in the seats behind a dozing Nunnally. The clouds covering the windows were beginning to thin, the roar of the engines masking the sounds of the approaching city. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't excited.

o-o-o-o

In Nunnally's opinion, it was too loud to sleep. Still, the eleven-hour flight to get to Area 11 (she wondered if it had been named just for that pun) was far too long and exhausting for her to stay awake the whole way. Her thighs ached from the lack of circulation. The discomfort kept her from truly falling asleep, but her eyelids were heavy, her head drooping.

Only the unsteadiness around her and the lurching in her stomach woke her up enough to realize she hadn't put her seatbelt back on. Nunnally was tempted to leave it unbuckled and see if she could float in the air before they touched down.

Alas, 'twas not meant to be. Lelouch delivered a pointed glare in her direction, and she promptly flushed, sheepish. Fully awake and rather red, Nunnally hastily fastened her seatbelt.

Down, down, down the plane went, slow but dizzying. Windows opened as passengers attempted to decipher the pilot's instructions over the roaring din, and the city lights sparkled and glittered vividly below as if they were stars in the late afternoon.

"Lelouch, Euphy, _look_!" Nunnally exclaimed, peering through the glass herself. "It's so pretty!"

"Wow, it is!" Euphy said. She and Lelouch both watched their descent with smiles on their faces.

Soon enough, they reached the airport. The plane bounced as it landed, the floor rumbling beneath Nunnally's feet. She held tightly to the armrests until the rumbling subsided, the noise finally quieting.

Nunnally adjusted her jaw and pinched her nose, lightly blowing to pop her ears. She didn't quite catch the pilot's instructions, but it couldn't be _that_ hard to figure out — besides, she trusted Lelouch to have listened. Her big brother was cool and reliable like that.

She patiently awaited further instruction, gazing adoringly at Lelouch.

"Alright!" Lelouch smiled at her. "Let's get going."

The flight attendants shuffled past, checking the aisles. Euphy and Lelouch stood, stretching their stiffness away. Lelouch shook his head, lightly patting down his hair where it had gotten extra fluffy. His hair really was a mess.

"The car is waiting at the station, right?" he asked.

"It should be," Euphemia said, checking her phone. "It's a black Oldsmobile."

Nunnally giggled. "That kind of car never goes out of style, does it? Even though it's supposed to be _old._ "

Their carry-on luggage more or less consisted of the girls' purses, so they didn't need to worry about retrieving their bags from the overhead compartments.

Further down the plane, in economy seating, an argument could be heard breaking out over two identical bags. Nunnally tried to take a peek at them, but Euphemia stopped her and shook her head.

"I'll take care of it," Euphemia promised, winking.

Euphy laid a hand on Lelouch's shoulder to tell him the same, but as she did, the argument ended. A small girl pulled out a well-loved stuffed toy from one of the bags. The adults looked sheepishly at one another and took up their respective bags, and that was the end of it.

The flight attendants called for departure to begin, and they, seated in first class, were among the first to disembark. Down the twisting hall and into the airport they went. Monitors soundlessly flashed the news, captions announcing this and that. Nunnally tried to catch a glimpse of the nearest one, but Euphemia suddenly stepped into her line of sight.

Cheeks puffed in displeasure, Nunnally tried to look around her, but the breaking news had already flashed to some other story, a heartwarming feature about a beached whale returning to the ocean. Her eyes watered in happiness for the whale, but her growing frustration ruined it. She wanted to know what the other story had been — it looked important.

Lelouch, however, did seem to have seen the news, as his expression became contemplating. His happy smirk went away, a small crease folding his brow. He always looked like this when the wars were mentioned, anything politically dramatic, anything their brothers accomplished without him.

Someone who didn't know him like she did couldn't have picked up on it. But Nunnally knew better. His mannerisms alone were enough to tell her that whatever was on the news was nothing good.

They bustled along the spacious hall, the clack of their shoes echoing on the tile floor. What seemed like hundreds of people were gathered a ways off, talking up a storm and following as close to the royal guards as they dared.

Cameras flashed in the crowd. Lelouch pushed down a scowl and offered a beaming smile at a group waving at him. He wasn't much for paparazzi unless he had something to gain from a nice picture, but a prince couldn't be too careful about his reputation.

Nunnally frowned. Instinctively, she drew closer to Lelouch and clung to his sleeve, trying to comfort him without drawing too much attention. She realized her mistake immediately.

She knew Lelouch didn't mind gestures of affection from her, but she was a princess and a vi Britannia. There was a time and place for being a little sister, and here, out in the open with paparazzi everywhere, was not it. Remembering that, Nunnally forced herself to let go of his sleeve.

As expected, the shark frenzy followed them. All Nunnally could do was smile beatifically, staying close to her brother, but not so close that anyone could make a distasteful feature story out of it.

It was only after the black Oldsmobile could be seen through the windows that the crowd began to thin. Euphemia consulted her phone to make sure it was theirs, somewhat unnecessarily, as their chauffeur was already waiting for them by the door when they got out.

Nunnally sped up, nearly breaking into a run.

"I call shotgun!" she declared, even though she figured Lelouch or Euphemia would scold her and tell her to sit in the back where it was just a smidge safer. Sure enough, Euphemia opened her door mere moments after Nunnally'd slammed it shut, looking amused and expectant.

Pouting, the younger princess surrendered her spot and moved to the back seat with Lelouch. She turned her puppy-dog gaze on him. "You're not going to leave me and tell Euphy to switch with _you_ , are you? I want to sit next to you!"

"What? Of course not," he answered as if it were the furthest thing from his mind. Lelouch buckled up, resting one warm hand over hers after she'd done the same. "Although if you truly wished to sit with me, why'd you call shotgun?" He grinned slyly.

"To see if I could get away with it," Nunnally replied. "Obviously, I couldn't, but now I get to sit with you!"

The car started, engine rumbling to life, and Nunnally suddenly sported a sly grin of her own. She clamped her other hand down on Lelouch's, holding him in place despite him not having anywhere to run.

Her eyes glittered with mischief. "You get to tell me all about that breaking news report now. The one that was on at the airport right before the beached whale."

"You see, they're having a wonderful sale on sesame steamed buns at Tok —"

" _Stop_ ," Nunnally interrupted, looking him dead in the eye. "I _know_ you, Lelouch. You made The Face back at the airport, the one that means you just saw something about the Empire or the things it's involved in that you didn't like. I'm not a little kid anymore, you know — I'm _fourteen_ and eighty-seventh in line for the throne. I am _royalty_ just as much as you are. These are _my_ people too. I need to know."

His innocent mask slipped away, the raw Lelouch who she saw when he was alone … or rather after she'd caught him brooding when he thought he was. It was not the face of a prince, but a boy. "Nunnally …"

Her brother couldn't bear to hold her gaze. He turned to watch the passing city instead, squeezing her hand more harshly than he had to.

Lelouch lowered his voice. "There was a riot this morning. A group of students … apparently, they were Elevens who'd got fed up with the system. They burned down the house of a Britannian ambassador while his wife and kids were there."

Nunnally's eyes widened, and her grip subconsciously tightened over Lelouch's hand in turn. His touch was comforting, grounding, as she closed her eyes and grieved.

She knew loss, of course. How could she not, when her mother had passed away with her hand around Nunnally's, tears in her eyes? When even Lelouch, normally unflappable, had begged Nunnally to stop screaming, snot running down his chin?

Yes, Nunnally knew loss, and she knew it acutely. Even this was loss — the ambassador and his family were strangers to her, but they were her _people_. They were Britannians who had sworn to serve the royal family and their country. It hurt, if not a little more numbly than the death of her mother.

She raised her brother's hand, clasping it in both of hers. She kissed it softly to search for comfort as she mourned, two thin rivulets streaming down her face. "Wh-why …?" she choked out, voice shaking as her tears continued to fall. "Wh-why would the Elevens _do_ such a thing? Wh-what have we done that was so horrible?"

Lelouch's other hand found its way to her hair, stroking her long, light brown locks. He didn't say anything to her. Euphy glanced backwards in her seat briefly, looking worried.

It was just as her sentiments started to prickle at Lelouch's own eyes that a distant, loud boom erupted somewhere ahead. He jerked his head frantically to the car window. The pedestrians were suddenly a lot louder than usual.

"What just happened?" Lelouch demanded, dragging his hand away from Nunnally's hair, though the one around her hand stayed there. He squinted, trying to see beyond the buildings.

There was smoke in the sky.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 9Jou10: This is the chapter where Mewsy and I strongly disagree on the utility of a dumbbell.

**Phase 2**

Suzaku Kururugi, an honorary Britannian soldier at the ripe age of seventeen, was not in good shape.

Well, realistically, who would be? He was just caught point-blank by a _bomb_. He wasn't certain how he was still alive; he hurt everywhere, but it didn't feel like anything was broken.

He wasn't sure whether he should be relieved or disappointed.

With great effort, he opened his eyes and lifted his head. _Ow, neck._ Not fun. _Ow, light._ _Wait, light?_ It was supposed to be evening, or at least close to it. _No, wait, fire._

Right, bomb meant explosion meant fire … Nothing was amiss.

_Wait a minute._ Wasn't he supposed to be on guard detail for Prince Clovis?

Internally, Suzaku cursed up a storm, memories of the past few minutes rushing back. Someone decked out in full Britannian gear, helmet and all, had swept past him, but the soldier's uniform was crooked, so Suzaku stopped him. The nametag didn't match the Asian face behind the helmet's mask, and he looked so terrified and _anxious to leave_ that Suzaku realized —

_"Why are you working for those Brits!" the man had yelled. "Get out of here! Let them go down in flames! Or_ _are you a_ traitor _to your_ own _people?"_

— that Prince Clovis' life was in danger, and just in time, too. Suzaku had found the bomb with mere seconds remaining; he threw it down an empty corridor of the convention center right before the clock ticked down to zero. He barely managed to get it far enough away from Prince Clovis before it blew.

Suzaku struggled to his feet. "Have to … get to … the prince!"

Prince Clovis was supposed to be attending a meeting in the middle of the building. Although the west wing was smelled of smoke and was littered with shattered glass and rubble, the inner and east portions should have been untouched by the explosion. Nothing guaranteed that the prince was safe, however, so Suzaku rushed to confirm it for himself.

"M-my arm! Help me — please! PLEASE _HELP_ ME!"

Suzaku's attention flashed over to a stranger caught dangling precariously on a crumbling ledge of the flooring.

No part of the conference center had been completely empty when Suzaku had thrown the bomb. Doubtless, there might have been more people caught in the blow. But _this_ one — this guy was —

"H-help!" His fingers were red and shaking, his other arm dangling limply beside him. A fall to the underground garage below might not kill him if he could land properly, but he was losing his grip fast. "I'm going to —!"

Suzaku froze, torn. Suddenly, he wasn't sure of himself. It would be wrong to let this man die, wouldn't it? Morally reprehensible? His duty as a soldier was to protect and serve, wasn't it? So, this person … _this person_ was someone he ought to save.

And yet …

If he saved this man, who would be there for Prince Clovis? What were the chances Prince Clovis wasn't unguarded or, heaven forbid, being held at gunpoint right now? If he failed his assignment to save an unknown visitor, what would it do to his career? Would Suzaku ever be able to recover from that sort of blow? Would he still be able to change the Empire from the inside out?

While Suzaku was caught warring with himself, the man's grip failed him, and he fell. Sheer shock held the teen soldier still. It couldn't have been any more than a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity.

The man had been within reach. Suzaku could have saved him if he'd just _moved_. But instead, the man fell, for ages and ages in slow motion, the image burning itself into Suzaku's brain.

He smashed into the concrete with a sickening _crack_ , and Suzaku turned away, another man's blood on his hands.

He ran to find Prince Clovis.

As expected, the damages lessened as he left the west end of the building. Suzaku sped past business corridors, dodging around a group of bewildered Britannian noblemen crowding to see what had happened. A few demanded that he explain, some gasping at his injuries.

Leave it to the pampered elite to be unable to stand the atrocities of serving in the military.

But he didn't have time to bother with them.

The moment the large meeting room's double doors entered his sight, he felt as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. Two restless guards were stationed at the entrance.

"State your purpose!" the left-hand guard said, lifting one hand to order Suzaku to stop. The other guard pointed a gun at him cautiously.

A bleeding honorary Britannian soldier rampaging down the hall probably didn't rub the right way.

"Bomb at the western end," Suzaku said breathlessly, cursing his bruised ribs. While they thankfully weren't broken, it hurt to take in air, which tore at his stamina. Normally, he wouldn't even break a sweat from a run like this. "A rebel snuck past patrol and planted a bomb. There's a chance there are more of them —"

As if on cue, three more explosions shook the building. The three men staggered together. Suzaku's eyes widened, his body hitting the wall.

"Please! You _have_ to evacuate Prince Clovis. I don't know how far they've managed to infiltrate!" he begged.

"Yeah, we better —"

The first guard had to maneuver into a forwards spin to avoid being hit by the door, which suddenly flew open. A bald man with strange glasses, General Bartley, gaped at them, a pistol at the ready.

"What is _happening_? Those are bombs I hear! WHO LET TERRORISTS INTO THE BUILDING?" he roared, the peeking face of a solemn Prince Clovis poking out from behind him.

"Sir!" Suzaku shouted, straightening and saluting the general. Blood dripped down his face, but Suzaku didn't care. "Rebels have infiltrated the perimeter. They were wearing full uniforms with helmets, disguising themselves as Britannian soldiers to slip past the patrol!"

"There's fire! Why aren't the fire sprinklers activated!"

The second soldier glanced around nervously. "They must have shut off the water supply."

Groaning, General Bartley started issuing commands to the two guards, sending them off to find safe routes for evacuation. Inside the meeting room, Prince Clovis scrambled to retrieve something he'd left on the table.

While Suzaku waited, he thought he heard the detonator's beeping in his ear, his chest burning at the memory. Cold sweat trickled down his neck.

Was that the end? Did it end at three bombs? No … that wasn't possible. The whole building couldn't possibly "go down in flames" from one big explosion and three smaller ones. There had to be some kind of catch, a detail he was overlooking, and that incessant _beeping_ didn't _help_ —

— _oh._

His mind emptied. Suzaku lunged blindly at Prince Clovis, a hand outstretched to push him down. They collided to the floor just in time.

A clatter, the raging screech of metal on stone, a gust of heat, the electric shock wave of a bomb erupting in the hidden bars of an air vent. Glass shattered. The chandelier broke into countless pieces somewhere ahead. Pain pattered Suzaku's back, the harsh percussion of gravel and metal chippings stabbing him through his uniform.

The ceiling collapsed in huge chunks. It crashed unceremoniously onto the table, across chairs, atop itself again. The walls themselves seemed to rumble.

The viceroy muffled a scream. What appeared to be the last chunk of ceiling plunked over the rest, mere inches away from squashing his pampered nose against the tile. Dust billowed about the room, a few more pieces of rock spilling across the floor.

Only the doorway stood, the rest of the walls revealing holes big enough for cars to drive through. Prince Clovis trembled. He coughed, whipping his head around to grab Suzaku's forearm.

Suzaku was still pinning him down.

o-o-o-o

Nunnally clutched Lelouch's hand. Her fingers trembled around his. Sirens sounded around them, emergency services speeding past their window.

Their Oldsmobile stayed stuck on the roadside. Some cars refused to move over for a fire truck, jamming the intersection. Apparently, Britannians here couldn't be bothered to follow basic traffic rules.

"That's where Clovis is," Euphy muttered, biting her thumb.

Lelouch's heart raced as more sirens wailed behind them. A police car and an ambulance sped past to join the jam up ahead.

If the crisis response teams couldn't get to the center in time, what would that mean for Clovis?

Nunnally gripped Lelouch's hand even tighter. Her gaze was brimming with fear. Foolish, selfless fear. Fear for their half-brother and the people who could've been caught in the explosion. Nunnally always managed to show the fear Lelouch forced himself to hide.

"Lelouch — we have to go check on him!" Nunnally insisted. "We have to —"

Three more booms.

The traffic finally cleared up, and the emergency service vehicles sped off, sirens blaring all the way.

"Sir?" asked their chauffeur, turning to Lelouch in concern. "Where would you like me to go?"

Lelouch's mind was already shooting off a hundred miles per hour, considering the dangers, the change of pace, the dread of witnessing the aftermath of terrorism, the possibility of losing his family member —

The death of Third Prince Clovis would be beneficial to him, had Lelouch been any higher in the ranks. Clovis was self-centered, vain, and useful only when he wanted to be. Yet Lelouch disliked the idea of his half-brother getting hurt, especially when he had come with his sisters to visit him. Their timing was the worst.

And … even deeper down, Lelouch didn't hate Clovis. He wanted him to be okay, to keep bringing back stupid stories and shower his sisters with gifts. The child in Lelouch wanted him safe.

_If we wait much longer, there might not be anything left._

They had Clovis' phone number, but they couldn't risk calling him when he might be caught in a terrorist attack. Waiting for answers wasn't going to help Clovis, either.

Lelouch didn't want his brother's life left in the hands of fate.

"Take Princess Nunnally and Euphemia to our hotel." Lelouch pulled away from Nunnally, knowing all too well the protests that were about to come. "Make sure you take a side route that gets them away from danger. Don't let them follow me unless I say it's okay. As for me, I'm getting out now."

"No!" Nunnally swiped for Lelouch, but he'd already opened the door and stepped outside. "Let me go with you! It's not safe!"

"As you wish, sir," their chauffeur said. He locked the doors from the inside so Nunnally couldn't follow. Lelouch nodded apologetically to Nunnally, who kept screaming at him from inside.

Euphemia shushed her. "I'll take care of Nunnally," Euphy promised. "You and Clovis come back safe, you hear?"

"I'll do my best." Lelouch shrugged off his suit, handing it to her through the window. He didn't need to be made a target before he got there. "I'll keep you updated."

"Good luck."

Lelouch walked briskly, guided by the flow of pedestrians. He could feel his sisters watching him until he turned the corner. Lelouch avoided making eye contact with the people around him, but everyone he passed was too busy evacuating to notice a stray prince.

Overhead, deployed Knightmares glided through the air, rocketing toward the complex. Even now, Lelouch had to commend Nunnally for inspiring Schneizel in the early development of the Float System, allowing common Knightmares to fly. The first Knightmares to use it were deployed in a scout of the Middle Eastern Federation and participated in a surprise aerial attack. They were an immediate success.

_Now it's my turn to do something to change the world._

As he walked, the darkening sky glowed a reddish-orange, far away embers lighting Lelouch's path. Smoke obscured what was left of the sunset, hidden behind another row of buildings.

Lelouch had a long way to go to begin with; the ash in the air was not helping. Unfortunately, the road had already closed when Lelouch left his sisters, and the chances he would find a willing ride were slim.

Right when he began to regret that, a blue-haired Britannian student rounded the corner on a motorbike, wearing the most idiotic look on his face Lelouch had ever seen.

The student squinted at him and came to a halt. After coughing, he took off his helmet and asked in an equally idiotic voice, "What happened here?"

Thanks to Lelouch having left behind his royal suit, he wasn't instantly recognized. The prince was now wearing a black shirt with a white ruffle at his collar, one of his more casual underclothes, and the white dress pants from before.

If this student didn't watch the news all the time, there was a small possibility that under the smoke and chaos, Lelouch could pass for a lofty Britannian citizen. It'd be an even nicer disguise if Lelouch had some shades to go with it — though admittedly less practical.

Lelouch decided to press his luck.

"I think a bomb exploded at the conference center!" Lelouch exclaimed, his expression forming into that of a worried teenager. He pointed desperately to the source of the fire. "My brother's in there! Pl- _please_ , you have to help me find him! He could be trapped!"

Lelouch vi Britannia knew how to fake smiles and present himself to others. Acting the victim, especially if he might not be lying about it, wasn't much of a stretch.

" _What_? Well, hop on!" The idiot tossed Lelouch a helmet out of the motorbike's sidecar, motioning for him to get inside. "We've gotta go!"

And, indeed, as soon as Lelouch got seated and strapped on the helmet (which was, unfortunately, a bit sweaty), they sped off … in the _opposite_ direction.

"What the — where are we going?" Lelouch yelled over the wind, distressed and confused. "Where are you taking me?"

"Sorry, buddy, but we can't get any closer!" the fool replied, not showing any intention of slowing down. "I was just going that way because my friend Milly wanted me to take pictures. From far away, we thought it might have been fireworks or something, but now I know that's _definitely_ not what it was. A bomb, you said? And your brother's in there? Yikes. You don't look any older than me … Look, we gotta let the police and the military handle this. It's _way_ out of our league."

They took a sharp turn, coming in view of the other cars, and the buffoon seemed to be distracted by them when they straightened out. The handlebars were within reach … Theoretically, if Lelouch could time it _just_ right, he could push him off without hurting him too much or falling off himself and take control of the motorbike!

Well, it _would_ be reasonable … if Lelouch was also skilled enough to jump out of the sidecar and land the seat while it was moving and _not_ shove the guy into evacuating traffic. Those odds seemed pretty slim.

_Five minutes on your own, and you're already blowing your cover._

He took a deep breath.

"My name is Lelouch vi Britannia, imperial prince of the Holy Empire of Britannia!" he shouted, calling up as much authority into his tone that he could muster. Surely even _he_ wasn't daft enough to refuse. "I _command_ that you turn back!"

The nincompoop tilted his head in shock, lost his concentration, and nearly crashed into another vehicle. He straightened at the last second and responded, "Never heard of the _vi_ Britannias"— to which Lelouch gave an indignant squawk.

"Y-you … you …!" Lelouch couldn't believe his ears. _This imbecile!_

"Look, I get you really want to go running _into_ the fire, instead of _away_ like everyone else with their head screwed on right, but I can't let you do that. _Especially_ if you're royalty. They'll have my head for putting you in danger!"

Lelouch, thus, stood corrected.

Lelouch put one hand on the sweaty helmet, adjusting it while his other hand gripped the rim of the motorbike's sidecar. He rose in his seat, not quite standing but also not rolled up in the helpless ball he'd been before. He wasn't about to push this guy off … but he was thinking about it — he really was!

" _Listen_ to me!" Lelouch attempted once again. It was like trying to tell a brick wall to get up and walk away. "I _need_ you to turn around! Drop me off, at least! You have _no right_ to drag me wherever you please!"

People in nearby vehicles were casting Lelouch and the motorbike driver strange glances. _Great. Just great._ He was making a spectacle of himself in his desperation. If even one of them recognized him … he didn't imagine it would be good.

Unless "one of them" happened to be the passenger of a certain black Oldsmobile. To Lelouch's astonishment, the car pulled up on their left, its window rolling down and revealing Euphemia.

"Lelouch?" she said. "I thought you were going to go find Clovi—"

Another boom rumbled through the sky, but that was just a convenient excuse, as the brainless mite on the motorbike wobbled and sputtered. "P-p-pr-princess Euphemia?"

Oh, so he recognized _her_ , but not _him_? _Spectacular._

" _Now_ do you believe me?" Lelouch demanded.

The neanderthal swallowed and nodded.

"Then _what are you waiting for_? Take me back!"

As the paragon of asininity finally turned the heaven-forsaken motorbike around, the Oldsmobile slowed, and Nunnally rolled down her window.

"Take care, big brother!"

Lelouch gave her a two-fingered salute as they finally, _finally_ headed off to the site of the explosions.


	3. Chapter 3

**Phase 3**

The Knightmares had split formation in the darkening sky. They cleared away smoke, smothered fires, and plucked chunks of rubble from the exits. Military super-weapons or not, they were more efficient than cranes.

Lelouch might have missed seeing them persecuting whoever had blown up the complex … but he didn't want to think about what that could mean for Clovis.

The fire was mostly extinguished by now. Lelouch, having just stopped thinking about how embarrassed he was to be caught with Rivalz Cardemonde (he got him to spill his name in the event of future revenge), could probably approach the building now if he had to …

"I'm getting out. Thank you." Lelouch nodded curtly to Rivalz and eyed the closest Knightmare. The pilots seemed too occupied to care about them. Lelouch set the helmet into a compartment and hopped out of the sidecar. "You'd better leave. I doubt they would mistake you for an Eleven, but it's best to be safe."

Rivalz gave a watery frown, revving up the motorbike's engine. Something about him was reluctant. He wasn't going to _argue_ , was he?

"Prince Lelouch … I just want to say …" he began proudly, "that it was an honor to get to meet your sister."

Lelouch surprised himself with the depth of his grimace. _He wants to die that badly?_ He could most likely arrange it.

"See ya', Your Highness!" Rivalz smiled, near skyrocketing out of there.

Lelouch turned, wiped the encounter from his mind, and focused on the area ahead.

He saw smears of blood, ash, dust … He heard helicopters … and the rat-a-tat of gunfire. A spark of fear kindled in his chest as he quickly stood back away from the doorway, hiding behind a conveniently placed mound of broken concrete. His gaze whipped up to the Sutherland model who'd been clearing the fire, its gigantic purple form spinning quickly towards the source of the sound.

What was he actually planning to _do_ here?

Lelouch didn't have time to ponder this, as the Knightmare swung back around suddenly and took aim in his direction. He ducked behind the concrete again. It didn't appear that its pilot had _seen_ Lelouch, but that had been far too close for comfort. If he was recognized by either side, it would mean the end of his visit.

Another rally of shots erupted from the opposite side of the conference center. The Knightmare deflected the bullets with its arm, responding with a precise shot of its own towards a second-floor window.

Lelouch could hear the scream from where he stood.

He didn't have time to waste being afraid — this was a _battlefield_ , not a game of chess where only one move was made at a time.

Forced to keep moving, Lelouch drew further and further away from the convention center. Unless a miracle happened, there just wasn't enough cover for him to pass safely, even in the shadows.

And then, one _did_ — a large chunk of the building's west wing trembled. With a resounding crack, it crumbled, portions of wall scattering and making a path to the entrance. Dust and smoke billowed into the air.

Then Lelouch did the most reckless thing in his entire life. He sprinted towards the opening, propelled by instinct alone.

Halfway across the stretch, Lelouch heard a shout overhead. He couldn't afford to get distracted, but as soon as he found cover, he looked through the collapsed ceiling.

Two dim silhouettes stood on the highest story of the building, one taller and leaner than the other. Lelouch drew closer, but before he could identify them, several things happened at once.

The highest floor of the building resumed crumbling. A shot rang out. The shorter figure jerked sideways, and the taller man fell, coming into view.

_Clovis._

Lelouch's senses sharpened. He thought nothing more of plans or outcomes. He _reacted_.

He darted forward faster than he'd ever run before, focused on Clovis hurtling past the supporting beams, and threw his arms out blindly to catch him. The barrage of gunshots above and the shower of rubble became muffled in his ears.

_I have to catch him! No matter what, I have to …!_

Lelouch hit the concrete, knocking the air from his lungs. He had misjudged Clovis' position. Clovis fell over his shoulders and sent them both to the ground. Pain rippled across Lelouch's arm, his left cheek burning where it scraped the dusty floor.

Clovis yelped when he landed. Thankfully, Clovis shifted his torso off of him so he could breathe. The viceroy sported a few bleeding scratches and a sizable bruise blooming by his chin. Otherwise, there was no sign he had been shot. "Lelouch! Is — is that you?"

_Unfortunately, yes._ Though Lelouch had to admit he was relieved that he didn't witness his half-brother die. Lelouch pushed himself up, breathing deeply, and attempted to roll his shoulders. They hurt. "I saw the smoke and figured you might need help."

"I offer you my thanks for saving me, dear brother." Although Third Prince Clovis la Britannia was dirtied and damaged, his vanity shone through. Lelouch got the impression that he'd expected to be rescued. "If it weren't for you and my good General Bartley, I would be dead."

The nearest Knightmare adjusted loudly overhead, and another explosion rattled the complex. More gunfire.

Lelouch uneasily watched the night sky, feeling sick. It was the first time he'd seen an armed conflict with his own eyes. No level of plotting or book-reading was enough to ease his nervousness, the shock of being in the midst of battle.

"Oh … don't worry about them," Clovis said, smiling awkwardly. "They won't shoot at us. General Bartley's giving the orders."

"Who was that up there with you, then?" Again, Lelouch tried to get a glimpse of the other figure. _Ah._ Lelouch caught the man's gaze staring down at them for a split second, noticed the dark curls of his hair, and then the stranger disappeared from view.

"Just an Eleven."

" _What?_ Is he a terrorist?" Lelouch stood straighter, stepping in front of Clovis. Despite that … something just didn't sit right about it.

The viceroy gave a low hum.

"He looks like a soldier to me."

"Does it matter?" Clovis said. Lelouch lifted an eyebrow at him. "It's an _Eleven_. Terrorist or not, it's trash beneath our feet. Dust in the wind. Let's not concern ourselves with it any further. Come along, brother!"

o-o-o-o

On the top floor, Suzaku saw the assassin disappear near the stairs. _Shoot._

Suzaku wasn't faring too well — it was a miracle he was still standing after having taken damage from not one, but _two_ bombs over the course of the day.

But there was nothing he could do. The rebel who shot at Clovis was gone, and Suzaku wasn't in any shape to chase him down.

He glanced over the edge of where the floor had fallen away, bracing himself, and was relieved to find Prince Clovis healthy and hale — if somewhat disheveled — on the ground with a black-haired stranger.

He and the stranger locked eyes for a moment before Suzaku turned away. He needed to find General Bartley; they'd been split up by some falling rubble earlier while Suzaku was escorting the prince.

He decided to try going back downstairs after first checking the roof. They had been attempting to use the Knightmares as an escape method, but they weren't able to make it in time before a terrorist found them.

When Suzaku reached the roof of the complex, the metal stairs swaying dangerously, he saw just how close the rebels had gotten to assassinating Clovis. Even with a swarm of military mechas surrounding the building to help, it seemed close to being demolished; vast sections of the ceiling had collapsed, and fires ate at the site of a new explosion.

The attack on the Tokyo Settlement Conference Center wasn't the worst Suzaku had witnessed in terms of violence, but the scale of it was unsettling. The war that tore Japan's pride was supposed to have ended seven years ago, yet they seemed to never find the path to peace.

Britannia smothered the Japanese; the Japanese rose up in acts of defiance — angry, unable to accept defeat.

What usually happened involved individuals assaulting those above them in self-defense: a parent holding her ground for a child, a farmer refusing to give away his crop — though as the years passed, the fighting became targeted: a group of students burning the house of a Britannian ambassador, as the morning news reported … or insurgents setting off _bombs_ in a conference center.

It was a messy plan, yes, as proven by Clovis' safe evacuation and the various screams littering the battlefield. But he couldn't help but notice as he painfully scaled the emergency staircase that there was something more in what the rebels were trying to do.

Suzaku grunted when he reached the bottom step, his pistol at the ready. The stairs and the main hall leading across the uppermost floor of the building were intact. Most of the lights had gone out, so it was difficult to see inside.

He had to settle with following his instincts.

He was now on the fifth floor, the same floor Clovis was at when the first bombs went off. Suzaku glanced across the hall, stopping in his tracks.

Bodies were littering the tile every few yards — soldiers, visitors, diplomats, and rebels alike, blood streaking the walls and pooling across the floor. Where pieces of the ceiling were missing, rocky shards were scattered nearby among the corpses or stabbed into someone's head.

It stunk of gunpowder, smoke, and iron.

Suzaku could feel his stomach churning. And then he heard it.

"YOU ELEVENS! YOU ALL SHOULD _DIE!_ "

His feet took him to locate the source of the shout as a child's anguished wailing filled the air. There was a loud smack, something being thrown, the squeak of shoes on the slick tile, hissed curses and a sickening _thump_ as someone hit the ground.

Suzaku turned the corner, stepping in a pool of blood.

Just as he found them, he slipped. With nothing to grab onto or the strength to regain his balance, Suzaku dropped to his hands and knees, wincing.

The sound of a scuffle told him they were paying more attention to each other than to him, and he looked up.

A wounded General Bartley was struggling with a poofy-haired Eleven over a gun, smashing each other against the wall as the weapon spun between their reaches. Dazed on the floor a ways off was a girl, whose affiliation wasn't clear.

Her clothes were scorched too badly for Suzaku to identify them, her face bloody and coated in grime. She didn't come across as particularly Japanese or Britannian to him, either. The only clarity to her features were the tears streaming down her cheeks.

She wasn't _quite_ a child, he realized, but she looked younger than him and injured, to boot.

Not that anyone still here could be uninjured, of course, considering the bombs. Humans weren't that sturdy, not even with Kevlar.

Suzaku inched his way nearer, keeping his gun close, while General Bartley and the Eleven fought. He had every intention of helping the general — Suzaku was an honorary Britannian and a member of their military; he swore to serve and protect them.

They held his loyalty. He'd thrown his pride as a Japanese away long ago.

Suzaku's attention was fixed on the fighting pair, not a movement untracked. He was acutely aware of the pistol in their hands, prepared to dodge if either of the men accidentally set it off.

So, when the general _deliberately_ yanked at the gun and pushed at the Eleven's finger, Suzaku knew. Suzaku saw where it was headed. Reflex made him move to stop it, but it was no use — he couldn't get there soon enough, not in his state. The only thing he accomplished was falling over himself.

Besides … the girl was a terrorist, wasn't she? It didn't matter if he couldn't help her, did it? General Bartley wouldn't let an innocent be hurt in the crossfire, after all.

It hurt, knowing he could do nothing to protect her, but at least she was the enemy. That was his only solace.

A shot rang out, silencing both the men. The girl choked, curling up tighter on the floor where she lay, her dark clothes seeping scarlet from a wound in her chest.

General Bartley had the Eleven's hand in a vice grip, the gun still pointed at her, a smug grin on his face. Tense silence followed. Suzaku watched the rebel's tears build and fall, his rage forming into words. He jerked the gun backwards, knocking it from the general's grip.

"You _monster!_ " the terrorist roared, voice hoarse. "You'd shamelessly kill those with _Britannian_ blood? She did _nothing_ to deserve this!"

_What?_

Suzaku turned his head to look at her. Nauseous horror filled him as he noticed, for the first time, the severed bit of her tie that had been trapped beneath her knee. On it was the symbol of Ashford Academy, a _Britannian_ school.

Another gunshot echoed in the hall, drawing his attention back to the fighting pair. He saw Bartley fall to one knee. It was too late. The Eleven took possession of the pistol, stepped back, and shot him in the head.

Suzaku couldn't bring himself to feel anything.

"Kallen! Kallen, are you okay?" The murderer was now bending over the girl, his back turned to Suzaku. The terrorist's shoulders shook when he reached out to her. "Kallen!"

She was sprawled beneath him, her face contorted in pain. But she didn't move.

"Kallen …"

Before Suzaku or the man could do anything else, another boom echoed outside. The flickering lights rattled and a huge shadow engulfed the already dark hallway.

A Sutherland crashed its arm through the side of the building, shattering an expanse of glass.

The entire hall was left exposed.

"Hold on!" In a smooth motion, the Eleven scooped Kallen into his arms and whipped towards Suzaku's direction. His face was bloodied, worried, determined. Ironically, he had the look of someone who desired to protect others.

The Knightmare must have seen Bartley's dead body, for it was as if the entire fleet began flocking the building. The mecha's pilot probably didn't want to let off shots where other Britannians could be trapped, but it had its hand positioned, aimed at the running man.

The Eleven didn't notice Suzaku was still alive. Suzaku still had a gun. If he wanted to … he could …

"Kallen, hold on, a little longer! W-we just have to get out of here!" the man gasped out. "I promise! We'll make it, Kallen!"

If Suzaku wanted, he could …

He could.

He _could_.

Suzaku's arms trembled as they rose, sights slowly aligning, not yet steady. The Eleven and the girl were distracted; they didn't even spare a glance at him. He could shoot.

Right now.

Shoot the terrorist who murdered General Bartley.

He was in Suzaku's sights.

Suzaku's finger was on the trigger.

_For Britannia._

He pulled it with a bang.

The bullet disappeared further down the hall. The Eleven halted and slowly looked back at Suzaku, who had stood up. The man's eyes widened. "What — why are you —?"

_Don't move,_ Suzaku meant to say. "Run," was what came out. "I'll chase you — they'll think I'll catch you. You can get away."

When it looked like he was about to hesitate, about to protest, Suzaku snarled and fired again. This time, the bullet grazed his face, ripping a gash across his cheek. The girl in his arms didn't even flinch. "Get _going_ , _Eleven!_ "

The Eleven took a step back, frowning grimly. His tone was wary when he spoke, but there was no malice. "It's Ohgi. Not Eleven."

And with that, he finally fled, Suzaku chasing after him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mewsy: As of today, two more chapters are written, but updates will be slow after that. We're having a lot of fun writing, so we hope you enjoy as well!

**Phase 4**

Prince Clovis la Britannia, with all his shining smiles and self-assurance, was decidedly _not_ that brave in the face of danger.

Although Lelouch managed to get Clovis safely to their hotel, the terror on his brother's face was beyond obvious. It was worse when Clovis got the call about General Bartley's death. Lelouch was ashamed to be younger than him.

Because honestly, pathetic didn't seem strong enough a word to describe him!

Granted … Clovis thought he was alone. From the hallway, Lelouch was secretly watching Clovis through the reflection of the bedroom dresser's mirror. Lelouch could tell from the bits of conversation he heard that the revolt at the convention center had gotten out of hand.

_I was right about those Elevens. They actually believe they can recapture their independence without a solid plan._ Lelouch listened as Clovis shut off the phone, planting his hands on the dresser. He waited as the prince's breathing became heavier, muttered curses spewing furiously from his lips.

Of course, even Lelouch was worried, but the fact that at least one of his sisters had to be hearing this too made his hair prickle.

"Brother — please," Lelouch finally spoke up, causing Clovis to swing around, flailing his arms, and accidentally smack them against the counter. _Ouch._

"A-ah! Lelouch. You were standing there?" Clovis asked with an innocent smile. He quickly massaged his arms, pretending nothing had happened.

"Yes. Please refrain from swearing when our sisters are around."

Clovis' expression turned apologetic. Though he could be a bit of a snob to most people, he never meant ill to his family.

Lelouch walked forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. Clovis relaxed.

"I'm sorry. It's just, those Elevens …" he trailed off, looking upset. "They killed him. They didn't stop at blowing up the compound; they came back and _killed_ Bartley." He turned away, running a hand through his olive-blond hair. "What are they _after_?" Lelouch heard Clovis mutter to himself. "Can't be _that_ , or they wouldn't have hit the compound …"

' _That'?_ Lelouch wasn't sure he liked the sound of it. More secrets kept from him because he was the young one? Because he was the son of the late Marianne?

Lelouch made a mental note to try to drag it out of Clovis later.

"What exactly happened back there? You were near the top of the convention center when you fell," Lelouch said, hands retreating to his sides. With the amount of time between seeing the smoke and getting to the site of the incident, Lelouch shouldn't have been able to save him.

Clovis was the _get away_ type of person, so running up instead of out didn't seem like his usual idea. Even though the Knightmares would have provided the best escape, he doubted his brother would have come up with the plan himself if he was being chased for his life by terrorists.

Clovis opened his mouth absently. Lelouch held his breath, but it was in vain. Seeming to think better of it, Clovis covered his mouth and sharply shook his head once.

"No," Clovis said, closing his eyes for a moment. He sighed and held Lelouch's gaze, but it was easy to see his thoughts were somewhere else. "I'm sorry, Lelouch. I … can we have this conversation later? I … I need to think. It was fine while General Bartley was still alive, but this is an emergency. I'm still the viceroy of this colony, remember? The people need me to take action right now … I need to think."

If Clovis' steps were hasty when he left Lelouch behind, well, pointing it out wasn't going to help. The man would only run faster.

Lelouch frowned as he watched him go.

A voice piped up from behind him. "Lelouch?"

He turned to find Nunnally, looking troubled. She held up a handkerchief, and Lelouch let her gently dab at the scrape on his cheek. When Nunnally was finished, she lowered her hand and draped the handkerchief over her fingers, turning it over to examine the blood and dirt now smeared on it.

Lelouch waited patiently, knowing his sister was merely trying to find the words for what she wanted to say. Finally, her hands stilled, and she looked up at him, innocent eyes wide and begging for answers.

"They hate us," Nunnally said, tears welling as the words spilled out. "The Elevens, they _hate_ us. On the way here, while you were still getting Clovis, there was a Britannian — one of _our_ people, kicking an Eleven on the ground, and Euphy and I pulled him aside, and the Eleven just got _madder_. He called us … He called us …!"

The princess sobbed, clutching the handkerchief to her chest.

_Nunnally._ Lelouch sighed and pulled her into a hug. He let her cry, rubbing soft circles into her back. There wasn't much else he could do. He felt the gravity of the situation as everyone else did. "I'm sorry …"

Discrimination was bound to ensue in places ruled by conquest. He knew that. When there were those claiming obedience from others, one had to justify themself to stay sane.

Treating their subordinates as lesser, like animals, stripping them of their identity and happy pursuits … Without those acts, Britannians might suddenly see the humanity in Elevens.

Without them, Britannia couldn't convince their people that there was a righteous cause behind their rule. That they were needed. That there was nothing to be ashamed of in taking Japan's life in exchange for peace.

He _knew_ that. He did. But he hated it.

Just as Nunnally couldn't help empathizing with them, as he himself justified not taking action, he hated it. He hated the underhanded nature of politics. He hated that the emperor was too self-absorbed in the glory of Britannia to discover better methods.

And he hated that he didn't have the power to do something about it.

"I'm sorry."

"Elevens are people, too, Lelouch!" Nunnally sobbed, burrowing her head into his chest. "They're _ours_. They're Elevens, but they're _ours._ We _failed_ them. They're _right_ to hate us! What right do _we_ have to control them? We're all human beings! We may be royals of Britannian blood, but how does that make us _better_ than anyone else? Our skin is lighter, our eyes less narrow, but we all share the same air, the same land, the same flesh, the same bones! What right do _we_ , who walk the same earth and who bleed the same red blood, have to step on them, to treat them like dirt? We _stole_ their _home_ , Lelouch."

With that, her voice cracked. Nunnally faltered, coming to understand the truth of her own words.

"We stole their home," she repeated breathlessly, voice trembling with realization and horror.

Nunnally pulled away, staring at him, her face pale.

"Lelouch … what have we done?"

He was at a loss for what to say. Anger welled up inside of him, a pit of bitterness that grew at the sight of Nunnally's pain. _It's Father's fault._

No … it was everyone's fault.

Lelouch and all the rest of them chose to turn a blind eye to the war. Even the Elevens, the majority who didn't dare to fight back. The few of them who did with ineffective acts of terrorism. They all played a part in it.

It was a mess.

The whole world was a mess.

Lelouch found himself unable to respond to her, wanting to grant her a ray of hope but finding none. As long as Clovis was in charge, as long as Lelouch was the little prince with no say, there was nothing to be done.

Not without compromising his position. _My position._ What was it worth if he couldn't act on what he believed in?

"Excuse me …" Euphemia said, opening a door in the hall. She was dressed in a velvet nightgown, her pink hair loose around her shoulders. A sentimental seriousness to her visage suggested she heard every word. "Nunnally … Lelouch … Shouldn't we be getting ready for bed?"

Nunnally had jumped, startled. She hastily rubbed at her eyes to hide her tears, face red, but eventually slowed as she realized it was just Euphemia.

Nunnally took one last look at Lelouch, seeming to draw strength from her brother's presence, before donning a shaky smile that steadied by the time she turned to face her sister.

"Y-you're right, Euphy …" she said. "Sorry, I just … wanted to talk to Lelouch. Today was more exciting than I thought it would be. I got overwhelmed. Are you done with the shower? I think I'll go take my turn now."

For all her bravado, his little sister's hands were still trembling where she held them behind her back, out of Euphemia's sight.

Euphy turned to him next.

Lelouch put on a smile, laughed weakly, and waved a hand. "I think I'll stay up a bit longer. I don't think the adrenaline's worn off just yet; my heart's still racing. Don't worry about me."

Her eyes narrowed at first, but she relented. She drew closer to pull Lelouch into a hug.

"Okay," she conceded, "I'll believe you. But I'm here if you ever want to talk, alright? You don't have to bear it alone, my brother. I love you."

"Thank you."

She kissed him on the crown of his head, and they wished each other goodnight.

Lelouch didn't exactly sleep, but he appreciated it nonetheless.

o-o-o-o

"— can't _believe_ you—"

"— he was _hurt_ and he _helped_ us—"

"— he's one of _them_ ; he's a _traitor_ —"

Suzaku let out a soft grunt as he awoke, squinting as he adjusted to the light. It wasn't audible over the sound of the two men arguing, but he regretted it anyway.

He slowly opened his eyes.

Bandages and splints were applied around his bare torso, more wrapped around the worst of his burns. The blanket had slid off the couch he lay on, half of it piling onto the floor.

To his side, he could see the Britannian student — Karen? Carmen? Kelly? _No, wait, Kallen_ — that G— … that Bartley shot, lying in a bed across the hall.

Sunlight beamed in the corner of his vision, the curtains being pushed aside by someone. He decidedly would not try sitting up just to take a look at who was arguing over there.

He was pretty sure he was in the Elevens' care, and he was also pretty sure he didn't want to know what would happen when they realized he was awake.

Suzaku instead suffered through the cacophony, not being able to do much else. His head pounded in irritation from their voices, preventing him from dozing.

It was a shame he couldn't have died in his sleep. It would have been more peaceful.

Once the world began spinning into a mix of colors beneath his eyelids, pain searing his limbs and a sharp stabbing sensation pulsing in his side, Suzaku noticed the arguing seemed to have stopped.

It was quiet again.

Yes, it was so quiet that he might be able to drift into …

A hand touched his arm, brushing against his skin. Suzaku's eyes instinctively opened, the face of the puffy-haired Eleven staring down at him in concern.

"Oh. You're awake?"

"You couldn't have waited _three more seconds_ ," came the unbidden thought as he glared sleepily at him.

The Eleven blinked in surprise, laughing, and Suzaku realized that his thought hadn't quite stayed in his head.

"Great, he's awake. Can we kick him out now?" the other man's annoyed voice said, coming up from Kallen's general direction.

Suzaku attempted to sit up, but the Eleven — _Ugly?_ Wait, no, that was _definitely_ wrong. _Orgy?_ _Erm._ _Okay, moving on_ — gently pushed him back down.

"Don't worry about it," the Eleven — _Bogey? … nah_ — said. "You're still pretty banged up. We're not going to kick you out or anything until you're well enough to be back on your feet."

"But we _are_ going to interrogate you."

The Eleven — _Corgi? Nope, getting colder_ — whirled around, taking a defensive stance. "Tamaki, we are _not_ doing this right now —"

" _When_ , then? When he's on his feet and ready to report back to his _superiors_ where we all are?"

"What superiors? We _killed_ them, remember? Both the general and the viceroy!"

_Oh, geez._ Were they really starting to argue again? Never mind Suzaku — he wasn't deluding himself; he knew he was still their enemy. Tamaki had a point there — but Kallen, also seriously injured, was practically _right next to him_ …

… _wait, "oh, geez?"_ Oh. _Ohhhhh._

"Ohgi," Suzaku said aloud, finally remembering the puffy-haired Eleven's name and successfully interrupting their argument.

" _What?_ " the two snapped simultaneously.

Suzaku pointed at Kallen sleeping in the other room, whose face was scrunching up. "I think you're bothering her."

On cue, Kallen groaned miserably from the bed, turning her head away from them.

"This is your fault, Britannian," Tamaki complained, although he did lower his voice.

"Shut up, Tamaki." Ohgi moved away from Suzaku, going to check on Kallen.

Just as Suzaku was preparing to be bombarded with questions, Tamaki crouched down by his side, surveying him with his arms crossed.

The man had a gristly, long face and youthful, reckless eyes. It was a memorable combo.

"Just for the record …" Tamaki said at a whisper, "I was the one who shot your prince."

Suzaku's hand, therefore, could not be blamed for snapping out and grabbing Tamaki by the throat while he was still off-guard. It wouldn't be enough to kill him, Suzaku knew — he wasn't in a position for that, and he wasn't at one hundred percent — but it would certainly be enough to pose a threat.

Even injured as he was, it was likely he could fool the terrorist into thinking he could snap his neck with his bare hands.

For a split second, fear and hatred flashed in the rebel's gaze, but he must have sensed Suzaku's weakness because the hands that flung him off were harsh and sure of themselves.

"You're _sick_ ," Tamaki spat, panting heavily as he stood. "Garbage. Not worth the air you breathe. I should have killed you then."

"But you _didn't_ ," Suzaku sneered in return, bitterness engulfing him. "What does that say about you? You, who endangered so many lives without a single regret? Britannians are people, too, just as much as Japanese like you and me, and yet you tried to kill them. Is _that_ the extent of your resolve? Won't you kill me, too, to weaken the establishment you so hate? Or do you not have it in you, after all? Was it all just posturing, in the end? The bombs, the shooting — all of it?"

Tamaki turned ten shades redder. " _YOU_ —"

"TAMAKI! Please!" Ohgi screamed, storming into the room.

He proceeded to smack Tamaki with the wet towel hanging on his arm.

" _Ow!_ Hey! What's your —"

"I told you to _shut up_ ," Ohgi warned, wrestling Tamaki backwards to restrain him.

It was obvious which one of the two was stronger.

"You forget that without him, we would not have made it out so easily," Ohgi snapped. "We owe him repayment, regardless of his bloodline. I'm not happy he's sided with Britannia, but you throw your pride away as a Japanese if you let him die now."

Tamaki plopped himself down on the ottoman, huffing. "We threw away our pride long ago."

For some reason, this egged Suzaku on even more. "'Threw away our pride?' You're _joking_ ," Suzaku spat. "What use is _rebellion_ against a regime if you won't hold on to the pride of your people? The old ways that they upheld?"

Taking advantage of the distance between Ohgi and himself, Suzaku kicked the covers off the rest of the way and stood, ignoring the man's protests.

He wobbled. A wave of dizziness hit him from standing far too quickly, but he steadied himself.

Angrily, he glared. At Ohgi, at Tamaki, but mostly at Ohgi, who stood somewhere easier to focus on.

"You owe me nothing," Suzaku continued. "You didn't kill me. I didn't kill you. We're _even_. I don't want your _pity._ "

Tamaki simply watched, his expression challenging.

Ohgi didn't seem fazed by this, his lips dipping into a frown. He became stoic, radiating authority. Suzaku got the sense he was more than just some wayward terrorist, at least within their groups.

When Ohgi spoke, it wasn't to console him. "You won't have it, then," he said. "But you do have a point. We aren't living up to our purpose like we should. I'm no fool; I realize these attacks aren't working like we planned. But that doesn't mean that we don't uphold our ways. All of us believe in what we strive for."

Sensing no dishonesty, Suzaku uncoiled bit by bit, letting himself relax enough to slowly sit back down.

He was still wary, though. How could he not be? He was essentially a prisoner in enemy territory.

"What _are_ you planning, then?" Suzaku asked eventually. "You … _do_ have a plan, right?"

He wasn't expecting a real answer, but … terrorists or not, he wasn't going to sit back and watch these people embark on suicide mission after suicide mission.

His goal had always been to _reduce_ casualties, not to make them skyrocket in the background.

"Well …" Ohgi started, glancing at Tamaki, who had decided his participation was unneeded. Ohgi turned to Suzaku again. "Well, can you agree with me that the Japanese are being persecuted unfairly?"

Suzaku shut his mouth with a scowl and looked away. His expression was answer enough. He'd suffered from such persecution. He was only an _honorary_ Britannian, after all.

Theoretically, he was afforded just about all the same legal rights as a born and bred citizen, but in practice, forced to fight to have any of those rights recognized by true Britannians. Even the viceroy, Prince Clovis, had referred to him as "Eleven" despite his legal status.

As a Britannian, he was supposed to defend his nation's integrity, deny all claims of injustice to her subjects, but in the end, the best he could do was refrain from verbalizing his agreement.

Suzaku vaguely waved a hand, indicating for Ohgi to go on.

"We want to make a world where the Japanese people can live proudly, without being stepped on by others who have no right to our land or culture," Ohgi said. "We thought at first that targeting high-profile Britannians would cause the media to explode. Let the Japanese know that we could really do something if we worked together. But we underestimated how far we'd have to go."

Tamaki leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. "We killed the kid's precious viceroy. That's enough to start a war."

"Tamaki, I told you to —" Ohgi protested, whipping around.

"Yeah, yeah. I know what you said." Tamaki didn't make a motion to get up, but he was glaring Suzaku in the eyes. Violent brown on viscous green. "Tell me, _Britannian_ , why would this interest you? You have nerve to speak of justice when you're on the wrong side of the war."

… _Justice?_ Suzaku couldn't help it. He snorted.

"When did I talk about justice?" he wondered aloud. Was it when he questioned Tamaki's resolve to kill him? When he scolded him for trying to throw away his pride?

He couldn't stifle another laugh, snickering to their dismay.

"You … you _really_ think that, don't you?" Suzaku said, staring incredulously at Tamaki while attempting to suppress yet another snort.

Tamaki looked affronted, offended, ready to stand and punch his lights out for the chuckles that just wouldn't die down.

Hysteria filled Suzaku; was this guy serious? Did this guy really not get it?

By the look on his face, he didn't.

"You _really_ think this is about justice. You're not joking. I … I can't …" His snorts grew to giggles, which grew to wild laughter.

It shook his chest with pain to laugh like that, but he didn't care. He couldn't _help_ it.

Tamaki stood from the ottoman. Even Ohgi began to look uncomfortable, but for all that, he still put a staying hand on his fellow insurgent.

" _Justice_?" Suzaku echoed madly. "What a _joke_! There isn't a ' _justice'_ here. This was never _about_ justice. There's no _point_ in justice if no one's alive to appreciate it! _All I ever wanted was for the Japanese to SURVIVE!_ "

The bang on the coffee table came swift and sudden, a jarring shift from his former giggly demeanor. No more — Suzaku's laughing fit halted, his face twisted into a dark scowl.

Suzaku clenched his fist harder.

"All I wanted was for the Japanese to _survive_ ," he repeated, "and what do you all do instead? You pointlessly throw your lives away to get the attention of a government that won't _listen_ to anyone who isn't _one of them!_ "

Ohgi flinched slightly, opened his mouth to speak.

Suzaku snarled. "And _I'm_ one of them. Was I born Japanese? Yes. Do I still care for my fellow Japanese? _Yes._ Am I nevertheless a _Britannian_ , just like the rest of the people you threatened? _Also yes._ You _should_ have killed me. _I am one of them._ But you didn't, and doesn't that just mean you've yet to wholeheartedly throw yourself into what you're doing?"

Tamaki seethed at the insult, although he had nothing to say to deny the truth of Suzaku's words.

The terrorists were a scattered, chaotic disaster, not nearly as worthwhile to the Japanese cause as they seemed. Their methods were wrong, what they did was wrong, and even faced with the reality of their situation, it appeared as though they didn't think so.

Ohgi grimaced, but he showed no sign of anger. Suzaku was prepared for their retaliation.

It never came.

"You're right," Ohgi said, and not even Tamaki could object. "What we've done hasn't worked because _we_ haven't worked. I see that."

Ohgi wrung the damp towel in his hands, an absent glow taking over his features. Hope flashed in there, mixed in with guilt and solemnity. The second Ohgi stopped fidgeting, his voice took on another layer of conviction.

"You're right. _We_ need to change. We _will_ change," Ohgi said, and when he looked at Suzaku again, there was something in his expression that he wasn't prepared for — something Suzaku wasn't sure he liked.

"Would you be willing to join us?"

"And be the one to send you all to your deaths? _Please_."

Suzaku removed his hand from the table, hurting everywhere and much too frustrated to deal with their nonsense.

"I'm no chess master," Suzaku continued, "but I _do_ know you can't make any promises if you don't have any sway over the rest of the Japanese forces. If you _did_ , you'd have been united when you aimed for Prince Clovis at the conference center. Even if you were separated, you could have at least coordinated an attack on multiple fronts, made it that much harder for us to respond. Like this, you'll just waste even more Japanese lives on a pointless cause. I'm not joining _that._ Fat chance!"

Ohgi stared at him. Why was he looking like a blockhead that didn't understand his point?

If anything, Suzaku got the impression that what he said made Ohgi want to argue _more_.

Though he didn't. "Alright. Do what you like, but I'm still offering to let you rest here until you can travel again, at least. Not as repayment," Ohgi amended, "but because I would like to help you."

"That's nice," Suzaku said, gripping at his knees as he moved to stand, "but I think I'll pass …"

There was a rather loud thump as a hundred forty-something pounds of Japanese man hit the floor.

"… out," Tamaki finished in exasperation.

During the few seconds before Suzaku drifted away, he heard Tamaki mutter something suspiciously like "good riddance" under his breath — and the resounding echo of Ohgi thwacking him with two fingers for it.

Whatever happened next, Suzaku didn't get a chance to observe — he'd already passed out, after all.


	5. Chapter 5

**Phase 5**

Not only did Lelouch pull an all-nighter, but the sun decided to blast through the windows before he realized he did. Lelouch turned away, a headache pulsing at his temples.

Last night, Clovis knocked out as soon as his cheek hit the pillow. Lelouch had not been as lucky.

Nor did he snore as much.

"Clovis?" No response. _I guess I'll go get some coffee._

On the bed beside them, Euphemia and Nunnally breathed softly in unison. It was quite cute, actually. Much cuter than Clovis' open mouth drooling on the pillow.

Barefoot and in his pajamas, Lelouch crept into the hallway, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Their hotel room had a reasonably sized kitchen with granite countertops. Pots and pans hung from wooden hooks on the walls, and an expensive-looking coffee machine sat in the corner.

Lelouch had never used a coffee maker before, but he could doubtless figure out how after a trial or two. He went to inspect it and noticed a dark shadow flicker in the corner of his vision. _What …?_

Lelouch spun around. Jeremiah Gottwald, the most loyal member of Lelouch's royal guard, stood in the doorway.

"Oh, it's just you." Lelouch sighed. Having spent the night worrying about assassination attempts, it was no wonder his pulse was racing.

Jeremiah bowed, a hand over his heart. His teal hair looked pristine even in the dim lighting of the kitchen. "My apologies, Your Highness."

Lelouch told him to rise, and Jeremiah lifted from his bow. "Do you bear bad news?" Lelouch asked.

"No, sir. The hotel's security has not been breached."

"What brings you here?"

Jeremiah glanced at the coffee pot. "I was about to end my post guarding the door when I noticed you had awakened. Will you allow me the honor of serving you a cup?"

It was so absurd, Lelouch had to stifle a laugh. Was he that afraid Lelouch would get burned? _He's amazing, without a doubt._ "Sure, feel free."

Lelouch waited with his arms crossed, watching Jeremiah perform the necessary steps to making coffee. His movements were precise, boasting of the skill achievable by a top pilot — or rather by someone who's used a coffee maker before.

When Jeremiah finished, Lelouch accepted it to drink in the living area. It was rich and bitter with just a touch of milk and sugar.

"Is it to your liking?"

"Absolutely. Thank you."

Jeremiah, appearing satisfied, bowed one last time and left the room.

Even with the coffee to distract him, Lelouch's thoughts wandered to how he saved Clovis from the terrorist attack. If he could get him to explain what happened, perhaps Lelouch might sleep again. _But it won't be a simple task. I'll have to create a favorable position for myself …_

Lelouch took another sip, the steam soothing him, and then noticed another person in the hall. He barely managed to hold on to his cup, even _more_ barely stopping himself from laughing and spraying coffee everywhere.

Nunnally swaggered down the hall. Her eyes were squeezed shut as she wobbled in his direction, arms outstretched in front of her like a zombie. Clearly, she hadn't gotten much sleep, either — her bags could have packed all of Lelouch's worries away.

"Coffeeeeee," Nunnally moaned and swiped at his drink.

Lelouch lifted it out of her reach.

She cracked open an eye. "Dear brother," Nunnally began, "elucidate thy rationale behind this mutiny, lest you suffer a cruel and unusual death."

"How brazen of me to object," Lelouch replied, unable to hide his grin. "You look like you could do with more rest, not caffeine. If you may pardon me for withholding your morning coffee in this most detestable manner, I would greatly appreciate you sparing my life."

Nunnally twitched.

Lelouch stared bemusedly.

Nunnally stared back with one eye. Soon, she opened the other with a mischievous glimmer.

Lelouch didn't have a chance to move before his sister pounced on him, knocking the air from his lungs and him to the floor. He helplessly watched as the coffee, somehow still in the cup, appeared to hover, spinning, and fell neatly into Nunnally's waiting hands.

_That defies the laws of physics!_

"Just as planned," she purred. Comfortably seated atop his legs, Nunnally took a sip of his ( _his!_ ) coffee. "Ah … That's the good stuff. Though, it could use less milk and sugar. You don't take it black, Brother?"

" _Nunnally_ —" Lelouch hissed, and if he had any less sense to let sleeping siblings lie, he would have shouted. He shifted underneath her, his cheeks burning in embarrassment. He wondered if it would be worth it if he spilled the coffee.

Considering it might burn both of them …

Lelouch attempted to relax, slowly reaching for the cup. "Black coffee is only good when I'm in the mood for it. Anyway — Nunnally, give that back right now; you aren't old enough to drink it."

Nunnally held the cup higher, mirroring him. "I'm _fourteen_ , Lelouch. That's _plenty_ old enough to drink coffee. It smells good and goes really well with French bread!" Pointedly, she lowered the cup and took another sip.

Lelouch growled under his breath and resumed struggling. "Well, it's _no wonder_ you can barely sleep!"

Nunnally pouted, shifting to trap him under her weight. "I didn't drink any last night. Didn't have to — I slept on the plane until the end, remember? It was a really long flight. And you stayed up the whole time — I'm surprised _you_ didn't sleep. Especially since you went into the thick of it with the terrorist attack and Clovis."

Lelouch sniffed at the mention of terrorists, clearing his throat. He didn't bother reaching for the cup again. "I've been keeping an eye on the news stations," he said. Lelouch idly played with the hem of his shirt, a nervous habit of his. "I couldn't sleep because my mind wouldn't stop."

"Then doesn't that mean _you're_ the one who shouldn't be drinking coffee?" She stood up and extended a hand to her brother. "Lelouch, it's still —" Nunnally craned her neck towards the window, "— disgusting o'clock in the morning. You can just get over jet lag the way most people do. By sleeping until noon. Come on."

In a betrayal of himself, Lelouch yawned. He cringed, squinting against the morning light. "I shouldn't. There's a chance Clovis might be called out for his duties soon and I want to talk to him about something before he does."

The fact that Nunnally had already drank most of his coffee wasn't boding well for his resolve. He glowered at the few drops now remaining in the cup. Another yawn tormented him. Had _that_ been her evil plan all along? Such sly manipulation!

"I'm staying up whether you like it or —" Lelouch yawned, feeling his tears prickle against his wishes, "— or not. Nunnally, no, you aren't going to be able to get me to sleep right now, so don't bother trying. I know how to use a coffee maker and I _will_ make another cup myself, so don't you worry; I'm fine." He had to hope she'd let it slide because he doubted his ability _not_ to fall asleep if he ended up having to pretend. The probability that Clovis would leave without a word was too high.

"… Liar. You've never had to use one before. The buttons on the coffee maker have little icons instead of words or pictures. Last night, I asked Jeremiah to help you before you burned yourself. And besides," Nunnally added, waving the now empty coffee cup around, "there's only decaf here. Room service said they wouldn't have real coffee in stock until later today; the shipment got delayed by the bombing. All the coffee in inventory was used up in a recent event. The only way decaf's going to wake you up is if you take it with _way_ more sugar than is good for you."

 _What._ Lelouch gaped at her, rubbed his eyes, blinked, and then took on what one could only call a dumbfounded expression. _Did_ _my_ little sister _just outsmart me?_ Through all that chaos, had she read him accurately enough to predict his every move?

Deep in his heart, Lelouch knew she was a demon plotting his imminent demise. Nunnally's sweet nature was too good to be true. But he didn't want to believe it.

Of course, he was likely only dreaming some nightmarish turn of events where Nunnally somehow anticipated his actions and stayed up to mess with him in the morning … and … _NUNNALLY!_ The urge to grip his hair and scream at the floor was strong, but the prince ended up taking in an extremely long breath instead.

"Well played, dear sister, it appears you have me beat," Lelouch said loftily, dropping into a bow almost as deep as Jeremiah had. But as soon as he did, Lelouch's head angled up, his violet gaze glinting. "But I'm afraid this simply means I'll have to go to a cafe later this morning and have another." Lelouch only needed to last until Clovis got up, after all.

" _What?_ " exclaimed Nunnally, taken aback.

Like a puppet whose strings were cut, she fell to the ground and moaned in faux pain.

"Ohhh … your words, Lelouch! How they wound me … You would drink the accursed beverage anyway? Even after I, your dear, _beloved_ sister went to so much trouble to stop you? How you cripple me …!"

Nunnally inched closer, dragging her legs as she crawled. Just as she wrapped a hand around Lelouch's leg, Clovis startled her into letting go.

"Lelouch, what did you do to her?" Clovis smirked in the hallway.

Nunnally whipped around, whining louder. "Clovis! Lelouch is being mean to me!"

"I am not!" Lelouch retorted. The image of Nunnally crippled, even as a joke, made his chest feel strange. He decided to forget about it. "She thought it would be a good idea to steal and consume my last supply of caffeine, so of course she isn't keen on being caught."

Clovis chuckled. "Oh, but _steal_ is such a harsh accusation. I'm sure she had no ill intentions. And neither did Lelouch," he said to Nunnally, who he offered a hand to help up.

Lelouch stifled a yawn with the rest of his questions. He couldn't speak with Nunnally there. She was too intelligent to overlook his true purpose.

"It's nice to see that both of you are still children at heart," Clovis said, a carefree glitter in his gaze. Not even his bruise seemed bad anymore. Apparently, beauty sleep really worked wonders.

"Yeah, well. We've grown a lot since we've last seen you, too," Lelouch said.

"I see that." Clovis gently ruffled Lelouch's black bangs.

Lelouch did his best to hide his displeasure. _I'm not a kid._ When he finally restored his dignity and a worse case of bedhead, Lelouch said, "I suppose you'll be busy dealing with the media and reports to Father today?"

"I'm afraid so," Clovis said. He flashed a helpless smile. "I'm glad to see you, but I do have work to do. Father's … not going to be pleased, once he hears of last night's catastrophe."

Nunnally, who was infuriatingly _still_ _here_ , hummed. "What do you mean?"

Clovis tensed and clammed up. _Could you make it look less obvious?_

"I understand," Lelouch said. "As the viceroy, your responsibility is to secure the safety of Area 11's citizens. I'm glad to see you're making the right choices." Irritation bled into his voice. _I'll have to speak to him another time._

As expected, Clovis took the compliments in stride, thanking him. Lelouch fought the urge to frown. Women might fall for Clovis, but Lelouch was not foolish enough to believe his sweet nothings.

It wasn't that he didn't love his brother. As the eleventh prince, only a handful of men stood between Lelouch and power. Criticism was part of the game. If they weren't worthy to lead, he didn't want to follow.

"Don't worry," Clovis said, ruffling Nunnally's hair in turn. "I know you all wanted to have some fun, so I have an idea!"

_That's a new one._

"How about I have someone take you three to visit Ashford Academy? Brother Schneizel's wayward engineer mentioned it before, so I'm certain he won't be opposed to giving you a tour of Tokyo as well." Clovis smiled at them as if that solved all of their — _wait._

If it was _Schneizel's_ engineer, Lelouch had a pretty good chance of gaining some insight on the war. Maybe he would finally get involved with the project the high princes were working on. _This is perfect._

"Sounds like a plan," Lelouch said, grinning at his sister to say _please don't argue_. "As much as we'll miss you, it should keep us busy until you're available."

Nunnally cast him a weird look, but she consented. "That sounds lovely. I hear the Elevens have a festival around this time of year, actually. Maybe Ashford Academy has plans to celebrate it. A festival is a festival, after all!"

Clovis looked at her strangely. "Ah? Where did you hear that from?"

"From a student named Rivalz."

_Oh no. Not that moron again._

"He was the one who drove Lelouch to you yesterday; we ran into him again later on." Nunnally cast Lelouch a significant look. His heart abruptly dropped into his stomach, reminded of the incident she mentioned. "Rivalz helped us with a troublesome fellow, then we talked for a bit. He seemed to know a lot about it, so I figured Ashford Academy might be planning something around the thirteenth."

"I see …" Clovis scowled. "Ugh, those Elevens … I'm so sorry you had to deal with one of them."

Nunnally's smile shuddered. She forced another one, but Clovis didn't seem to notice. "… Indeed," she agreed half-heartedly.

Lelouch was considering interrupting when Euphemia entered the living space, her hair tousled and eyebrows raised high.

"Good morning, everyone. I'm sorry I got up so late," she said, even though it couldn't have been past seven. "Clovis? Are you leaving?"

"Good morning, Euphemia," Clovis said. "I am, sadly. I'm needed so you'll have to go with Lelouch to Ashford Academy's … possible festival? I'm not certain about the festival part."

"There _might_ be a festival," Nunnally clarified.

Before anyone could say anything else, there was a knock at the door. Clovis answered it and a man with wavy, purple bangs and a huge smile barged in the room.

"Lloyd Asplund. What a coincidence!" Clovis said, one hand still on the door-handle. "I was just talking about how you would be the _perfect_ person to take my dear brother and sisters to visit Ashford Academy!"

The scientist — he was wearing a lab coat — eyed them curiously from behind his round glasses, huffed a laugh, and turned back to Clovis. "What a coincidence as well! I came to let you know that our unlucky friend's project has been secured."

_What project? Bartley had a project?_

"E-erm, thank you," Clovis said. "I'll take care of it from now on."

"Oh, _will you_? I'm so glad." Lloyd's grin was unnervingly wide. "I'd think you were trying to get rid of me if it weren't for the fact that I have business at the academy. Kind of you to remember, Your _Highness_."

"Lucky for you, then." Clovis was already shuffling towards the doorway. "Lelouch, you're in charge. Call me if you need anything." He was out without another word.

Lloyd's smile grew. "Prince Lelouch vi Britannia, Princess Euphemia li Britannia, and Princess Nunnally vi Britannia," he said. "I, Earl Lloyd Asplund, am happily at your service." His bow seemed mocking, somehow. Perhaps playful. He rose without being told.

"Nice to make your acquaintance," Euphy said with a laugh.

"Very much so," Lloyd responded, winking at Nunnally before spinning to the exit. "Now! It seems I have a parade to lead! Follow me!"

o-o-o-o-o

It took the combined strength of the three of them to keep Lloyd from dragging them out in their bedclothes.

It took another mass effort to get him to wait around for them to wash up, but they discovered in that time that Lloyd in fact _could_ use a coffee maker, he hated decaf, and hated small talk even more.

It was a miracle when they finally made it to Ashford Academy. Their Oldsmobile (Lloyd had actually suggested they take a Knightmare, which blew Lelouch's mind) slowed to a park beside the busy street. The bustling, shiny atmosphere of the inner city was untainted by signs of terrorism.

Lelouch got out of the Oldsmobile first, stepping out into the school grounds. _There really is a festival._ Food stands and gaming booths were set up among the square for guests and welcoming banners hung above the heads of people going to class. One could hardly tell that there was any danger at all.

 _Wait, not class,_ Lelouch observed, catching a glimpse of a few classrooms through the window. They were decorated, and now that he paid closer attention, he found that many "guests" were actually students.

It occurred to him that it was still the beginning of August. No one in their right mind would start the fall term as early as the thirteenth of August, right? _Right._

… _or do they have class after all and aren't wearing their uniforms?_ Come to think of it, why did they look so _happy_ to be here? _No one should be happy to be stuck at school in the middle of summer. No one!_

Lelouch's musings were interrupted by some incompetent cretin who thought it was a good idea to carry three boxes of art supplies and round a corner at Mach speed. Lelouch was knocked to the ground. He sneezed, glitter and confetti flying everywhere.

"Woah! Sorry, didn't see you there — wait, Prince LeBoeuf?"

_Incompetent cretin, indeed._

Lloyd laughed at them from the car. Exactly how many _insufferable fools_ could inhabit one world?

Lelouch quickly pushed himself up, dusting the glitter off his clothes. He deserved that speck of dignity, at least.

But glitter had the uncanny tendency to stick wherever it landed. How he failed to learn this particular fact after years of growing up with his sisters, the world may never know, but the end result was that Lelouch merely spread the glitter onto his hands and everything he subsequently touched.

"It's Prince _Lelouch_ , thank you," he snapped. "You should watch where you're going."

"Uh, Prince Lelouch, you've got a little—"

"Shut. _Up._ "

"Y-yessir." Rivalz gulped.

"Rivalz?" called a female voice before the clod could dig himself any deeper. "Where's the glitter I asked for — oh! Prince Lelouch, is that you?"

A mature-looking blond came over, carrying a clipboard, recognition visible in her widened eyes. Clearly, this was a woman of _culture_.

"Your Highness, I wasn't expecting you," she said. "We heard about the bombing, but no one called to cancel, so we figured we'd go ahead with the festivities. Is Prince Clovis alright? Or is he here with you?"

"Prince Clovis is alright," Lelouch said. The scab on his left cheek stung faintly with the memory. "My brother has something to take care of, so he won't be able to make it. He sent us, knowing the festival would be a fine opportunity to experience what Area 11 has to offer."

"He knew?" Milly glanced at Rivalz, who suddenly realized his mistake.

"I didn't tell him; I promise!"

The others joined Lelouch at the entrance. "Don't forget me!" Lloyd's nasally voice piped up, his head appearing _way, way_ too close to Lelouch's shoulder for comfort. "Milly darling, I suppose fate does have its ways."

"Lloyd!" Milly exclaimed. "Don't tell me Prince Clovis sent you, too …"

"Maybe, maybe not!" Lloyd dismissed easily, straightening. "I wouldn't be here if I wasn't interested. Speaking of which — one of your schoolmates submitted a portfolio. Nina Einstein, was it? I'd like to speak with her, if you will!"

Milly hummed awkwardly. "She should be in storage, checking on the Ganymede. Not that we're going to show it off today. Our pilot is in the hospital right now, and we haven't found a replacement for her yet …"

"Hmm … how unfortunate!" Lloyd smiled.

"That _is_ terrible news," Nunnally said. She stood on Lelouch's other side, a much more comfortable presence than Lloyd. But Lelouch could sense her unease.

The Ganymede was the prototype model their mother, Marianne, tested back when Knightmares were just an idea. Her work with the Ganymede was what garnered her nickname "The Flash" from the war — and like a flash, she had gone.

"I could pilot it," Lelouch said, raising his head. "I've studied the Ganymede before and I'm no stranger to Knightmare Frame technology. I can do it."

Euphy gasped. "Lelouch! What are you saying?"

Lelouch held Milly's gaze, conviction flowing through him. "I can do it."

He ignored Euphemia's incredulous stare, Nunnally's choke of grief, the way Rivalz's jaw dropped and dropped some more. It was the perfect chance to honor his mother's memory. To do something with himself, even if it was just for some summer festival.

"Let me do it."

Lloyd invaded Lelouch's bubble again to peer closer at him. Lelouch flinched and pulled away. _What was that about?_

"Oh, no, Your Highness," Milly protested, "we couldn't possibly ask you to do it! This is for your sake, after all …"

Nunnally tilted her head. "But Rivalz said something about this being an Eleven custom."

Said pea-brain perked up immediately. "Oh, yeah, definitely! See, I heard the other day that the Elevens have something called 'O-bon' that they celebrate around this time of year —"

"What he _means_ is," Milly interrupted, whacking Rivalz upside the head, "we were planning to hold a surprise festival for Prince Clovis, but we wanted a theme for the festivities. We found out there was a popular holiday the Elevens celebrated, but we're just using O-bon as inspiration. This is a festival for Your Highness, even if you're not the prince we were expecting. Please … enjoy yourself and don't worry about the Ganymede."

"Aw … and here I was looking forward to that," pouted Lloyd. In Lelouch's direction. With puppy-dog eyes.

 _Me too._ Lelouch had gotten excited, almost. And for what? To be turned down again? To be denied his wishes because he was the protected eleventh prince?

Lelouch sighed quietly, suppressing the urge to lash out at her. "I find not worrying to be nearly impossible, considering my mother piloted a Ganymede model before she passed away. At the very least, I wish to see it up close."

"Do you mean Empress Marianne?" Milly echoed. 

"Empress who?" Rivalz gaped.

Lelouch tried not to scowl. “My _mother_ , the late Empress Marianne vi Britannia. She was known as Marianne the Flash back when she was a Knight of the Round. I thought they taught history in these schools?"

The blank look on the ignoramus' face said it all. Obviously, Rivalz hadn't paid an iota of attention in history. On the other hand, Milly seemed rightfully abashed.

"Right … How could I forget? My family were the ones who sponsored her before we lost our status. Your mother’s skill was unheard of in her time. Some say even today's best wouldn't be able to keep up with her if she were still alive." Milly bowed her head. "Forgive my rudeness, Your Highness. If it so pleases you, we would be delighted to have you pilot our Ganymede."

Though Nunnally had been against it, she clapped at the news. Euphy stood watching, and Lloyd gave a _mhm_ of victory.

"Thank you kindly, Miss Milly Ashford," Lelouch said. "I won't disappoint."

Lelouch exchanged a few words with his siblings and made arrangements to meet up later. Nunnally didn't ask to go with him, and he didn't blame her. His heart was heavy too.

"Don't take all day, Your Highness!" Lloyd teased, ambling off as if he owned the place.

Lelouch tried to catch up to him, but before he could, someone crossed his path. A strange girl wearing white and covered in green makeup swayed towards them. _Is she dressed as a ghost?_

" _If I die young, bury me in satin_

_Lay me down in a bed of roses_

_Sink me in the river at dawn_

_Send me away with the words of a love song,_ " sang the ghost, and Lelouch felt another headache incoming.

"Oh! I love that song!" Nunnally said.

"Cornelia gets a little disturbed every time she hears me sing it," Euphemia added. "She always asks me if I need to see a doctor."

The grin Nunnally sent Lelouch was unsettling, to say the least.

The ghost girl danced closer as she finished her song. Lelouch fought the urge to die of mortification while his sisters shamelessly fawned over her.

"Thank you so much! I'm glad you liked it!" The ghost girl swept into a bow. "My name is Shirley. Nice to meet you …?"

The moment Shirley's eyes caught his, they flashed in realization. She seemed as embarrassed as he was. Briefly, Lelouch glanced over her shoulder in search of Lloyd, who was tactfully — _what a shock_ — waiting by the door.

Shirley stood with a flustered flourish, her smile awkward and eyes averted. "Uh-um-um," she stammered, glancing at Milly and Rivalz. Maybe she thought it was weird that they came instead of Clovis, but for some reason, Lelouch believed something else was bothering her.

"Are you alright?" Lelouch asked finally.

"You're very pretty," was the only intelligible thing that came out of Shirley's mouth.

Lloyd, having somehow heard them, wolf-whistled. "Seeking out a queen already, Prince Lelouch?"

Lelouch felt a smile coming, but he held it and any impending blushes at bay. He wasn't a complete stranger to love-sick fans, though it made him feel weird to have to talk to one face-to-face.

Instead, Lelouch thanked Shirley's compliment with a regal nod, doing his best to ignore the squeals of both her and his siblings. As for Lloyd …

"I'll see you all later," Lelouch said. "Have fun." He waved goodbye, joining Lloyd at the door.

Lloyd took off at a brisk pace through the school. The inside was busier than the outside, full of people decorating their displays, chatting in classrooms, and taking pictures. Lloyd swerved around them, making no effort to slow for Lelouch.

When some students blocked the hall, carrying a table, Lloyd had long since left Lelouch in the dust. Hurrying around the crowd, Lelouch barely caught a glimpse of Lloyd's coattails rounding a corner.

What should have been a pleasant walk seemed to morph into a game of tag, with Lelouch as It.

Halfway down an unfamiliar hall, Lelouch doubled over and tried to catch his breath. Apparently making a fool of the prince was part of the festival. Why was _everyone_ in Area 11 against him? He straightened, still gasping for air, and wiped the sweat off his brow with his sleeve.

"Lloyd! Get back here!"

A moment later, Lloyd's head poked out from around the corner. "Hurry up, will you? We don't have all day."

"What do you think you're doing?" Lelouch snapped, just barely managing to get moving again.

Lloyd smirked and beckoned him over to the library. He strided up to a bookshelf and revealed a hidden entrance to an elevator. Lelouch suddenly forgot he was supposed to be mad at him. _I'm going to pilot the Ganymede._

Lelouch hesitated for only a moment before entering the elevator. Lloyd selected a floor and then they were descending. The floor they exited on was a large, dim room broken by a huge set of metal doors.

Enthusiastically, Lloyd unlocked them and pushed open the doors.

A girl with black braids was working on her knees with a flashlight and a wrench. And above her, imposing its grand form higher and higher, was the Ganymede.

Lloyd hovered close to her, watching with a curious expression. The girl raised a hand in acknowledgement, her eyes never leaving the panel she was working on. This went on for a few minutes, not a sound coming from the two save for the clink of tools and hums of intrigue.

Eventually, the girl finished. She wiped her brow and scooted back to where she could safely stand and face them. "H-hello …" she greeted, twisting her wrench in her hands.

"Hello," Lelouch said. "I was sent to be the replacement pilot for the festival." He smiled calmly when she refused to meet his gaze. _Does she know who I am?_

"Oh, that's good. I suppose … I should give you a run-through of the controls?" the girl offered. "You see, this Ganymede is a special model, so …"

"I'm already familiar with the controls. A brief report of any upgrades on the original design will be enough," Lelouch said.

She looked at his face, her eyes widening. "Prince Lelouch vi Britannia? You've piloted Empress Marianne's Knightmare?"

There it was. Lelouch chuckled. "Sadly not, but I've been educated on piloting every major model, including my mother's. Fear not of my abilities. I'll be sure to please you."

"No, no, I mean … We've made some advancements to the design," she clarified. "A-are you sure?"

"Positive."

Lloyd whistled. The girl looked between them nervously. "That settles it, doesn't it, Nina?" Lloyd said cheekily.

Nina laughed awkwardly in turn. "This way, Your Highness …"

She pulled out a blueprint and updated Lelouch on the Ganymede's upgrades. But instead of the old-fashioned model he was expecting, what he saw seemed as modernized as the recent Knightmares — all without changing the outward design that much.

"You added a Float System?" Lelouch asked, lifting an eyebrow at the compartment that stored the wings and boosters.

"As much as we love having antique models for sentiment, I thought it would be better if our Ganymede was practical," Nina explained. "In this day, a Knightmare without a Float System is nearly useless. Not that we need to use it …"

For once, he was at a loss for words.

"And I thought it would be a good idea to password protect the weaponry, since the usual pilot is a student and all …" Nina pointed to code written on the print. "This is the password to the radar system, actually. I increased the radius of the system to also include heat sensors. You'll only need that one."

Lloyd whistled again. "You figured out how to do that all by yourself?"

Nina nodded, cheeks pink. Lloyd's eyes gleamed predatorily in response, causing the girl to scamper off, stuttering something about opening the garage to let the Ganymede out.

Lloyd lifted an eyebrow at Lelouch. "What, you don't know how to get in yourself? You should have plenty of room to maneuver."

"Of course I do," Lelouch said. He glanced around. _Aha._ The keys.

Lelouch picked them up and walked around the backside of the Knightmare. There the keyhole to unlock the doors was, right where it should be. Lelouch inserted the key and the doors slid aside, revealing the cockpit.

Lelouch slid into the swiveling chair, glancing back once to gloat at Lloyd because _the_ Prince Lelouch vi Britannia was about to pilot the _Ganymede_ in his mother's honor and _no one could stop him_ — or at least he felt that way.

Lelouch positioned himself, eyeing the vast array of controls. Everything was where it was supposed to be. Except … _Why are there so many levers?_

Lelouch abruptly remembered some of them were specifically for flying. He loved Nunnally dearly, and thought her insistence on the Float System was a great idea at the time, but currently it was rather inconvenient.

He started the ignition and the dashboard lit up, the screens flashing in welcome. On them were the radar, system statuses, and the camera-feed. At least those were correct.

Lelouch put on his headset and closed the cockpit doors. He watched as Nina opened the hatch in the ceiling of the basement, revealing the blue sky.

 _"Status?"_ Nina's voice asked.

Lelouch smiled, gripping the control handles. "All systems go. Ready when you are."

 _"Alright then,"_ Nina replied. _"Let's get you started."_

The floor shuddered and shifted, then with a steady hum the Ganymede began to rise. Even from inside, the light of day was almost blinding.

Once the platform had risen to its full height, he saw the crowds gathered around him. Britannian students, starry-eyed youths like Lelouch himself might have been in another world. Amazed by the future, amazed by possibility.

 _But only if you aren't born an Eleven,_ his mind whispered.

He could see Euphemia and Nunnally in the crowd as well as the student council members from before. Milly gave him a silent nod. Lelouch's lips curved into a smirk.

Do a few spins in the air, display the wonders of Britannian strength, and show the world he was a force to be reckoned with.

 _"Follow my orders, Your Highness … if I may be so bold,"_ Nina said. " _Initiate takeoff."_

 _Let's do this._ Another thrust of the boosters and Lelouch launched into the air.

The first thing he noticed was the freedom of flying high.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mewsy: A nice reviewer let us know we were skipping ahead with the Flight System developments, so we decided to edit the previous chapter. Mainly we said that Nunnally's involvement with Schneizel helped speed up the project. Instead of Knightmares flying in the end of Season 1, they are now flying from the start of it. Thank you, kind reviewer.

**Phase 6**

Suzaku was not alone. Suzaku was also not dead. What Suzaku _was_ was stuck — and in an unreasonable amount of pain.

The first time he'd awoken on Ohgi's couch, Suzaku was accosted by arguing. This time, the room was silent save for the pounding in his head.

_Water._ Suzaku's throat was parched and raw. On top of him was that same blanket tossed over his injured body, but it seemed someone had moved him into a more comfortable position on the floor.

At first, Suzaku looked around, wondering whether the Elevens ( _Japanese,_ his mind whispered) had left him a glass of water, but found none. Wonderful.

He was less than enthused about doing so, but, biting his cheek against the pain, Suzaku pushed himself up. From there, he carefully stood and took a wobbly first step.

When he didn't fall flat on his face, he took another, and another, mindful of his breathing. Belatedly, he remembered he had no idea where the bathroom or kitchen might be … _Oh well._ He'd find one or the other eventually, right?

Suzaku moved along, leaning on the walls for support. Eventually, he found a door slightly ajar. He pushed it open and was blinded by steam and a gut feeling that quickly caused him to regret his life choices. Particularly when his eardrums suffered for it.

"GYAAAAAAAAH!"

"AH!" Ohgi screamed back.

The steam was just now clearing, a pressure cooker open and spewing clouds into the air. Ohgi's face — and his pink apron — were covered in splattered dough. One hand clutched a dripping spatula and the other hand twitched aimlessly in the air above the pressure cooker.

Ohgi coughed awkwardly and waved, his hand looking … very red. "Er, hi. I stopped the thing before it could explode, but, uh, oh, how are you feeling?"

The only response that came out was a dry, hacking coughing fit. Suzaku wasn't terribly sure he wanted to know what he walked in on, but it was far better than what he was expecting under all that steam. He would give a proper response, perhaps a snarky one, but he _really_ needed that water, unfortunately.

Ohgi noticed his discomfort. "Let me — hold on, let me —" Ohgi put down the spatula and turned off the stove before whatever he was cooking could bubble over. He fanned more steam into the vent. "Hold on!"

Suzaku didn't have to wait much longer, because the next time he looked up, Ohgi was holding out a cup of water.

"Here," Ohgi said. "You're thirsty, aren't you?"

Gratefully, Suzaku sipped at it, knowing that glugging it all down wasn't the best idea. When he'd hydrated enough to speak, he bit out sourly, "This doesn't change anything. I'm still your enemy for as long as what you do endangers my people."

"Very well." Ohgi dusted a few sticky pieces of rice from his apron. He pulled the apron off and placed it on a hook on the wall. The rebel leader turned back to Suzaku with a smile. He still had rice in his poofy hair. "You probably don't plan on staying, but I would like to offer you a meal before you go. And … one more thing. Kallen woke up earlier. She would like to talk to you."

_The Britannian?_ Suzaku supposed it couldn't hurt … He wanted to know why a Britannian was so important to these two. He wanted to know how she was doing after being shot at — no, shot _by_ someone she should have been able to trust with her safety, because that had been the man's entire _job_.

Grudgingly, Suzaku nodded.

Ohgi gestured for Suzaku to move out of the doorway. Ohgi led him across the living room, past Suzaku's bed on the couch, and into the neighboring bedroom. "Kallen?" Ohgi called.

The red-haired Ashford Academy student was sitting up in bed, her blue eyes much sharper than Suzaku remembered. Kallen's shoulders were bare, but her chest was dressed with bandages similar to Suzaku's. She didn't try to pull the covers over herself.

"You can come in," Kallen said.

Suzaku took the invitation and hobbled to the bed, gingerly sitting on the edge. He met her gaze with confidence of his own and a good deal of concern. She'd been shot in the chest, after all … For one horrifying moment, Suzaku had thought Bartley had murdered her in cold blood. _And now she's here, alive._ "Hey. Kallen, right? How are you doing?"

Kallen didn't relax at his friendly tone. She stayed steady. "I'm fine. You're a Britannian soldier, right," she asked, although it wasn't voiced as a question. Her hand shifted under the covers as she sat up straighter. "Why did you let us go?"

Suzaku raised an eyebrow in response, but he swore he felt his heart stop.

The truth of the matter was: _Suzaku had no idea._

He could give any number of excuses after the fact, sure, but at the time … At the time, he remembered only one thing going through his mind, and his body deciding to do the exact opposite.

Smothering his inner turmoil, Suzaku enunciated, "You're _Britannian_ , aren't you?" He shook his head in disbelief. "Friend of rebellious Elevens or not, I couldn't just let you die. If this guy was going to get help for you, I wasn't going to stop him. And it's not like I could have helped you myself," he added, gesturing pointedly at his bandages.

"Your so-called holy people were prepared to let you die, too," Kallen said. She kept her gaze fixed on Suzaku's eyes, trying to read him. "You have a Japanese accent. You've followed their orders to the very end, and yet you wish to go back to them? You hold their rule in such high esteem? Even though a soldier should be prepared to die, you're fighting for Britannia over Japan?"

"I don't," spilled the words from his lips, and Suzaku hadn't the slightest idea where they came from. But they just kept coming, welling from somewhere deep within him where he'd suppressed them, shoved them out of sight in a desperate bid to believe what he was doing was right.

(It wasn't.)

"I don't believe in Britannia. Their cause is built on _lies_. Their pride is made from _excuses_. The only thing they care about is _stepping on others,_ no matter if it's Britannians imposing on a colony's native people or the wealthy crushing the poor," Suzaku said. "They promised us _rights_. They promised us the chance to be _human beings_ if we renounced our former ties to our respective homelands and served them wholeheartedly instead, and it was all a _joke_ to them _._ "

His hands trembled with rage, so he curled his fingers around his knees and squeezed. Suzaku faced Kallen, a wild, broken look in his eyes. "You're Britannian. General Bartley was supposed to _PROTECT_ you!"

He didn't mean to shout; he really didn't. His hands, still shaking, rose to tear at the sides of his head, fingers tangling in his hair and digging into his skull. " _I hate them!_ " Suzaku shouted. "The only thing they care to do is crush _everyone_ under their heels, and I'm _sick_ of following their orders."

Suzaku sucked in a breath, then slowly hissed it back out, fighting to calm down. "And I'm sick of dealing with the Japanese, too," he added. "I didn't kill my father just to watch my people throw themselves to the gallows."

Ohgi took a step forward, lips pressed thin, but he said nothing.

Kallen watched Suzaku without comment, but her face twitched in pain. Her eyes watered, eyebrows furrowed, a frown forming … then lifting. "Kill your father?" she repeated in a soft voice. "You don't sound like a regular soldier. Who are you?"

_Frick._

That had come out of his mouth, along with the rest of the words he didn't mean. He hadn't meant to say it, hadn't meant to say _any_ of it, but bully if he wasn't pissed. Who was this girl to question him? She was Britannian. What right did she have to even be saying any of this to him? To be questioning him like this?

Seething, he lifted his head. "That's _my_ question. Who are _you_ to be asking any of that? Are you even a Britannian? Denouncing everything about them to _my_ face, when I've worked so hard just to be _living proof_ that the new system can work?"

Suzaku waited, a loaded pause. They were silent.

"Go on, say it. Say the word," Suzaku egged. "Admit you're just another filthy _Eleven_ trying to provoke me so I say stuff like — like _that._ Because I'm starting to wonder if I shouldn't have just shot you both when I had the chance. General Bartley was _right_ to shoot you if you're just going to support _mutiny_ the minute you wake up."

Kallen leaned forward, her hands tightening to fists beneath the covers. A wrathful fire blazed in her eyes. Ohgi almost spoke up, but Kallen shot him an unforgiving glare and returned her attention to Suzaku.

"I _am_ Japanese. But I'm also Britannian, no matter how much I want to rip that label off myself," she spat. Kallen's breath shook, her shoulders trembling. "Bartley _killed_ my brother while he was walking to the store to get medicine for my mother. He got in the way of Bartley harassing a Japanese family. Apparently, that justified _shooting_ my brother. Naoto bled out on the street."

Kallen hissed in a breath, fighting tears.

"My brother _died_. And those 'Elevens'? The unlucky family? Their things were destroyed, their children scarred, the parents beat. My mother was on death's door, and I found Naoto's body at midnight when I went looking for him. All in the name of _Britannia_. No one cared that he had Britannian blood," she said. "Ever since then, I couldn't bear to forgive Bartley or this country."

Something hot and destructive flooded Suzaku as he heard her story, and he ruthlessly shoved it down like every similar feeling he'd had before it. _And look where it got you,_ came the unbidden thought, but that too was shoved in the box.

"Yeah. That's … that's definitely something that would get him killed, Britannian or not," he muttered, a touch of bitterness in his tone. "General Bartley wasn't very merciful. He and Prince Clovis … I don't think those two cared much about the natives." If their refusal to look beyond his blood and see his flag was any indication. _But, then again, most Britannians don't care for the "honorary" status._

Once again, the thought was ruthlessly shoved in a box.

"And yet, you —" Kallen cut off, a notification lighting up a cellphone on the desk in the corner of the room. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "Ohgi? Can you —"

"Got it." Ohgi brought the phone to her.

Kallen's other hand snaked free from the covers, taking the device. The second she saw what was on the screen, her jaw dropped. " _What?_ "

Ohgi bent over the bed to take a look. His jaw dropped too. "Well."

"Not only did they _replace me_ , but —" she choked out, disbelief transforming her features. "How could — _of all people_ …"

"You did miss the festival Clovis was supposed to attend …"

"Clovis is _dead_ , isn't he! These Britannians just don't care!" Kallen threw the phone down on the bed.

Suzaku could see the video on the screen. A strange Knightmare standing tall in a busy school festival … and Eleventh Prince Lelouch at the head of it, waving at the camera from the open cockpit.

_Huh,_ he mused to himself, only a little surprised to see the prince. Suzaku was fairly certain Prince Lelouch was the same person he'd locked eyes with when he saw Clovis fall.

He chose not to reveal the fact that Clovis was actually alive. Instead, Suzaku said, "Festivals are good for morale. Whenever someone important dies, we charge right back in, full-force, like nothing happened. It shows the opposition that they can't hurt us." In this case, the show was probably more to reassure the public over General Bartley more than Prince Clovis, but the rebels didn't need to know that.

As a soldier, Suzaku appreciated the finesse Prince Lelouch had behind the wheel of the Ganymede. It was … amazing, truthfully. He didn't want to be this man's enemy; Suzaku only had so much experience and so much training with the Knightmares, after all. He surely couldn't make them move so seamlessly, so effortlessly; they always lagged under his touch. It was a wonder they'd let Suzaku serve at all, with his lack of affinity for even the most basic of frames.

"He's good," Suzaku found himself muttering, then blushed as he realized he'd said that aloud.

Kallen and Ohgi were looking at him strangely.

"Yeah," Ohgi said finally. "Too good if you ask me. You ever wonder why 'honorary Britannians' never get this good at piloting Knightmares? They aren't given the chance."

"I can bet you my flying is better than this trash," Kallen retorted. She snatched up the phone and turned it off. "The second we get Knightmares for the Japanese, everything will change. We'll show them."

"Kallen —" Ohgi was interrupted by someone knocking on the front door.

Kallen glanced fearfully at Suzaku. Ohgi pursed his lips.

"I'll see what they want. Stay here," Ohgi said, especially to Suzaku, and left the room.

Though it left a bad taste in his mouth to wait as he was told, Suzaku knew better than to do anything else. He was but an honorary Britannian; if he were caught fraternizing with the Elevens, he'd be arrested (or _worse_ ) for treason.

Not wanting Kallen to get the wrong idea, he rebutted just loud enough for her to hear, "Oh, we get a chance, alright. We become the _cannon fodder_ and the _lab rats_ for the higher-ups. It's not our fault, we just _suck_ at adapting. Knightmares are unwieldy and unresponsive half the time; it's a wonder anyone's learned to pilot them in the first place."

Kallen huffed a laugh at that, but it was quiet and seemed to hurt her chest.

There were hushed voices at the entrance, the stamp of shoes against the floor. Someone raised their voice.

"What do you mean, _Kozuki's been hurt?_ " It wasn't Tamaki. This man's voice was smoother.

Ohgi tried to hush him, another man's voice carrying into the house.

"We don't have _time_. Two days! How are we supposed to manage this without her?"

"Sugiyama, calm down. We — we'll figure something out," Ohgi said. He also said some other things that Suzaku couldn't catch.

A pair of footsteps started in the hall. "I'm going to see her."

"I just said —"

Kallen leaned into her pillow, pretending to be asleep. If she wanted to, she could have spoken to bring the men in to bust Suzaku. But she didn't.

The approaching man was decidedly shoved into the wall.

"What gives!"

"I said _don't_ see her right now," Ohgi hissed. "That's an order."

More hushed voices, then the footsteps faded away. The sound of a trashcan being kicked over carried into the room. Kallen still didn't move.

Another long moment passed, and the door shut, a single pair of footsteps entering the bedroom.

Ohgi ran his fingers through his hair, which had bits of paper in it along with the rice. "Well. Bad news."

Kallen peeked her eyes open.

"If we don't find a pilot in two days, people are going to die."

Suzaku's eyes narrowed. "Explain."

A moment of silence passed. Kallen waited, Ohgi hesitating by the door.

"Nagata and Sugiyama got back from their scout," Ohgi said. "As it turns out, the project that Bartley has been overseeing hasn't been canceled. We've overheard plans that Britannia has been developing poison gas to use against the Japanese and that a shipment will be coming through Tokyo in two days. As you both know, it isn't beyond Britannia to use this gas where innocents live."

Kallen was watching Suzaku's reaction. "You'd think by now, people would get fed up with letting Britannia trample all over us," she said.

Ohgi grimaced. "There should be a way for us to get rid of the poison gas before they get a chance to use it, but we'll need a skilled pilot since our group is compromised," he said. "In the case of emergency, we can't just rely on fighters on foot. We're outgunned and outnumbered."

"Ugh!" Kallen threw a pillow onto the floor. It tumbled into the wall. "This is _my_ fault. If only I hadn't gotten reckless … moved _faster_ …"

"It's not your fault," Ohgi said firmly. "We all knew this would be dangerous."

"But now people are going to _die_."

_All's fair in love and war. This happens to be war. Of course people are going to die, why can't you just understand that and give up already so you don't have to go through this anymore?_ was what Suzaku meant to say.

"I'll do it," was what he said out loud, and he wasn't terribly sure why he tried anymore. Clearly, his mouth wasn't cooperating. But he had to follow through with his decisions, even if he hadn't meant to make them. So he soldiered on. "If there are innocents there, I don't want them getting caught in the crossfire. But keep your mouths shut about it. I'm going straight back to Britannia afterwards, got it? I didn't help you, you held me hostage, and I escaped when you took me with you."

"Understood," Ohgi said, sharing a quick glance with Kallen. Both of them looked relieved, but Kallen had an almost smug expression on her face. "I'll give you more details over lunch. The food is getting cold."

The rebel leader left them alone again.

Kallen seemed to have mellowed, the slight pinch of her features reminding him that she was badly injured. A girl who'd been caught in something much bigger than she could handle.

"Thanks, by the way," she said, gazing out the window. "I was planning to bust you for helping us if you ended up backing Britannia, but it seems like you have a good heart. I won't say anything if people ask."

Suzaku just bent over, curling up and hiding his face between his knees, and groaned. Days like this, he wished he had someone smart around telling him off for his stupidity growing up. Maybe he'd have learned to control his big mouth better.

"My name is Kallen Kozuki, but I'm known as Kallen Stadtfeld at school. I got rid of my birth name when Naoto was killed," she said. Suzaku didn't ask to hear it, but there was a tenderness in her tone that wasn't there before. "You don't have to tell me your name if you don't want to. But if you really believe in helping the Japanese, I don't think this is the last time we'll see each other."

Suzaku peeked at her from his spot between his knees. Kallen Kozuki, Kallen Stadtfeld … he was fairly certain he'd heard the name Stadtfeld before. They were big names in Area 11. It made sense, seeing as Kallen apparently was also a student at Ashford Academy. He was pretty sure only Britannian nobility made it in there.

He considered it briefly. _Should I tell her my real name? Is it worth it?_ He hadn't told any of the rebels his real name yet. He still had plausible deniability. Mousy brown hair was common among the Britannians. Green eyes less so, but he'd seen the combination enough times in the mess hall or around barracks to be certain he couldn't be identified by those features alone.

And he knew the rebels would _never_ claim him as a Japanese, even if just aesthetically. It would hurt their cause too much.

_No,_ he decided. He'd rather not give them his name. His name was the only identifier that could truly get him caught, after all.

Instead, he pondered what he could use as a nickname. Nothing in English, of course. It would be better to distance himself from Britannians in every possible way. And he wanted it to be easy to remember. Bonus points if it was related to his real name.

Kururugi, a sliding wooden bolt that kept a door shut. Suzaku, the Vermilion Bird of the south. _Bolt? Lock? Phoenix?_ Hmm, maybe he was onto something with that last one.

Phoenixes were curious things, always starting from zero after death and resurrecting an infinite number of times, carrying what they learned with each life for all eternity …

Suzaku lifted his head, liking the sound of that.

"Call me Eien."

_Eternity_.

* * *

If Lelouch thought he would get good sleep that night, he was sorely mistaken. It was not the exhilaration of flying, nor the jet lag, nor the culture shock of touring Area 11.

It was _Lloyd_ , something he'd said to Lelouch, something Clovis didn't even have wind of, that kept Lelouch awake.

Okay. So he slept a little over the course of two days. Mostly in the form of dozing and napping, as he could pass it off easily and still take part in the day's activities.

Yet his mind was busy trying to solve the puzzle of what to do. As far as Lelouch could tell, Lloyd wasn't stupid. The information Lloyd teased Lelouch with after he flew the Ganymede was bait, not a slip-up.

But no matter which direction Lelouch looked at it, it was too _enticing_ , too perfect a lure to catch a desperate young prince. And more than that — more than the meaning it held for Britannia, what it could mean for the world — _it was Lelouch's upper-hand against Clovis_. He had no intention of getting in the way of his half-brother or meddling in his affairs, but this affair in particular was Lelouch's best opportunity to climb the ladder in his father's eyes.

This was his chance to get involved and prove himself. Lelouch could not afford to lose it.

Since the festival, Clovis had been busy, only coming to see them at night. They played slumber party games per Nunnally and Euphemia's ingenious bonding ideas, but Lelouch was about as good faking his engagement as Clovis was at enjoying it.

_All I need is a shred of proof that Lloyd was telling the truth._

And Clovis gave that proof. It was something so slight, perhaps the result of the lasting effects of a drink or whatever Clovis did for fun.

So slight that if Lelouch had not been grasping for answers, he might have missed it.

"Tonight, I've got business to attend to," Clovis had said, "in General Bartley's absence. I'm rather exhausted, and I'll have to deal with Asplund the Freak again. What a pain."

Lloyd had told Lelouch about a certain project. Important things were said to happen involving a fleet of Knightmares. A project that would happen on the 15th of August and pass through Tokyo's underground system before taking to the skies.

Nunnally noticing Lelouch's interest in Clovis had been his primary concern. But she told Clovis goodnight, and Lelouch went unnoticed. _Yes._ Lelouch would get his chance.

He'd prepared himself for the very occasion in two ways. One: Lelouch had used his lack of sleep to justify buying sleeping medication, actually at Euphemia's suggestion. Two: he told Jeremiah to guard the door once Clovis left.

Lelouch had hoped he wouldn't have to — _okay_ , maybe he wasn't that concerned about his sisters.

The sad thing was, Lelouch cared for them but not enough to let them take away his shot at a brighter future. It was a simple trick. He would convince them to take the medicine with him (and pretend to take it himself), wait until they passed out, and take his chances and follow Clovis.

If they suspected Lelouch, he would simply have Jeremiah step in for him.

Nunnally could question him in the morning, yell at him for all he cared. As long as Lelouch didn't miss this, he could endure their griping.

But he planned on being back before then.


End file.
